


lonely nights

by exprsslyfrbidden



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Shenanigans, Yearning, but it's like a hot shower steamy, it does get steamy, just all those classic fic tropes, not a full on sauna steamy, slight angst, tasteful steamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25753864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exprsslyfrbidden/pseuds/exprsslyfrbidden
Summary: Sometimes you just need some late-night yearning. What better time to do it than in moonlight, where vulnerabilities and words usually left unspoken come out?Ava and Beatrice have some nighttime encounters. Everything is softer then, when they're half-hidden in shadow, no longer scrutinized by the sun blazing down on high. Stares and touches can linger. Words gain deeper meaning, and they both start to realize that what's between them is a little more than friendly.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 368
Kudos: 1055





	1. nightmares

Beatrice has always been the one to wake at the sounds of birdsong early in the morning, a sense of alertness remaining even into the hours of her rest. Even the slightest unusual creak in the dark lifts her out of slumber into wariness. It means that she’s used to a certain level of interrupted sleep. She’s glad for it, though, when Ava knocks in the middle of the night. 

Her voice is small and tense in a way that immediately brings Beatrice from deep sleep to alertness. “Beatrice? Are you there?” 

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and slides out of bed. “I’m here.” She’s barely to the door before it swings open and Ava tumbles into her arms with a small “ _ oof _ .” “Hey! Is everything all right?” The words have just left her mouth when she catches the glint of tears across Ava’s cheeks and the redness of her eyes. “Ava? What’s wrong?” 

It’s reminiscent of their first real touch, but this time Beatrice finds herself more familiar with it. Ava buries her head against Beatrice’s chest, body shaking, and the instinctive hug comes without hesitation. “Nightmare,” Ava manages between half-sobbing breaths. “Couldn’t sleep.” She’s clutching at Beatrice like a lifeline. 

Beatrice finds herself stroking Ava’s hair, pulling her deeper into the embrace. She nudges the door shut with a toe and guides them back, until they’re leaning back against the bed. The last vestiges of sleep confusion have left her now, and she’s all too aware of the warmth of Ava’s body. She grasps for some reaction of comfort. Her mind is absurdly occupied by the way Ava’s hands rest, curled up and supplicant between their bodies, and Beatrice cannot think of how to reassure her. 

“How can I help?” she finally asks, after Ava’s hiccuping breaths have evened out somewhat, following the rhythm of Beatrice’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

A jerky shake of the head. Ava makes a soft, pained sound that jerks Beatrice’s heart against her ribcage, hard. “Can you just...hold me?” 

“Of course,” Beatrice murmurs. Ava can probably hear the desperate thump of her heart, frantic to escape her chest. Beatrice wishes fiercely for it to calm, because such a reaction cannot be encouraged. “Here, lie down.” She pulls away for a moment to scoot onto the bed. Ava follows like a magnet. As soon as Beatrice has positioned herself on her side, opening a pocket of space for Ava, she curls into it like she’s always belonged there. The thought is dangerous enough, but the way Ava sighs into Beatrice’s chest and settles into her arms is near-deadly. Beatrice disguises her stuttering breath by reaching over to grab a fistful of tissues off her bedside table. Ava takes them gratefully. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” Ava mutters. Her voice is hoarse from crying. “I, uh, think Lilith would’ve really killed me if I woke  _ her  _ up, though.” She looks up, a weak smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “Thanks.” 

“For not killing you? Low bar, don’t you think?” Small delight quickens Beatrice’s pulse at Ava’s genuine huff of laughter. 

“Yeah, well, I think more things have tried to kill me than to protect me recently, so.” She falls silent. It’s somehow easy to forget about the hordes of demons ravenous for the ring embedded in her back. 

“You have us,” Beatrice says. “And I’m pretty sure Lilith doesn’t want to kill you anymore.” 

“Mary pushed me off a cliff!” Ava takes in Beatrice’s surprised pause. “It was a  _ really  _ tall cliff, too. It hurt like hell.” 

Beatrice reminds herself to ask Mary about that. “Well...that notwithstanding. You have me.” Her mind tries to supply “and Camila and Father Vincent” but somehow those words don’t escape her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Ava sighs drowsily, nodding. She yawns, and reaches out. Beatrice doesn’t comprehend what exactly she’s reaching for — more tissues? — until warm fingers find her own and intertwine themselves easily. Ava pulls their joined hands between them gently. Fingers trace scars on Beatrice’s knuckles, the back of her hand. “What are these from?” 

Beatrice finds her lungs burning and finally recalls how to breathe. “Sparring. General nun activities.” She doesn’t remember most of them. Whacks and cuts from combat training don’t tend to make a mark on her memory. Ava continues to trace each scar, focused intently. It’s adorable, and intimate, and Beatrice can feel a sinuous thread of panic begin to twist in her chest. She grapples with it for long seconds. Tamping down feelings has long been her wheelhouse, just another skill to add to the resume, and she grasps for that practiced calm now. 

“What about this one?” Ava traces the long, jagged pale line curving along Beatrice’s forearm. “Looks like it hurt,” she murmurs. 

Beatrice smiles wryly. “My first mission.” Back when she was still learning the ropes. “I had an encounter with barbed wire. Nearly gave the others a heart attack, I was bleeding everywhere.” 

Ava chuckles. “You mean you weren’t always so badass?” She squeezes Beatrice’s hand. “It’s hard to imagine you as a little nun-in-training.” 

“Oh, I’ve always been badass,” Beatrice deadpans. “Maybe just a little clumsier.” 

Ava gasps. “Language! We are in a house of God!” Her eyes are twinkling with mirth, and something swoops in Beatrice’s chest. The feeling clogs her throat like honey. All she can do is give Ava an exasperated, fond glare. 

“Please.” 

“Just learning from the best.” Ava shrugs, grinning. They fall into a lull of companionable silence. Ava’s still holding her hand, but her thumb rubs repetitive circles against the back of Beatrice’s hand instead. 

Beatrice feels herself falling back into a state of drowsiness. With Ava’s steady breaths and their hands intertwined, she can almost imagine a different story, another reason why they’re lying face-to-face in the same bed. Her heart aches at the thought like the traitor it is. She closes her eyes and tries to scrub the image of Ava’s smile out of her mind. Forget her kind eyes, the way her lips tug into a smile, how soft they seem, the alluring curve of her cheekbones, forget just how  _ close  _ Ava is to her. Forget it all, because it can’t be hers.

“I dreamt that I couldn’t save anyone,” Ava admits quietly, words barely audible. Beatrice opens her eyes. Ava’s staring hard at something in the distance. “They were killing…everyone. And we were fighting, trying to get somewhere safe, but more and more of them kept coming. I couldn’t stop them. I saw…” She breaks off. Beatrice notices a faint glow creeping up Ava’s back. “I saw them kill Mary, and Lilith, and Camila, and...I saw you die.” Ava shakes her head, squeezing Beatrice’s hand so hard it almost hurts. “I know it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. But it  _ felt  _ real. It felt so  _ real.”  _ Her voice is still a hoarse whisper, wracked with a real terror and pain. “I couldn’t do anything. I could only watch, and —” 

Beatrice squeezes her hand. “Ava, look at me.” She’s never seen Ava so torn up, so vulnerable. She’s usually all quips and teasing lines, lighthearted despite everything. This tearstained fear is novel and discomfiting and Beatrice aches to fix it. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” Ava nods, wiping away unshed tears with the back of her hand. “You remember what I promised?” 

Ava mumbles a soft “Yeah.” 

“What did I promise?” 

“Not to leave me alone.” 

“ _ Never _ to leave you alone.” The words are huge in her mouth, they loom in her mind larger than any basilica or chapel. It feels heady to promise such things to a woman she’d only just met. It feels terrifying. It feels right. It can only feel right, when Ava gives her a quavery, relieved smile. “And, you know, I’ve never died before, so maybe I can’t.”

“Pffft,” Ava snorts, rolling her eyes. “Okay, nerd.” 

“Excuse me?” Beatrice can’t find anything in her to be truly offended, only amused. “The nerd that has saved your life at least twice.” 

“I mean it as a compliment!” Ava adds, eyes wide. “You know like, fifty languages  _ and  _ can kick ass. You’re the  _ best  _ nerd.” 

Beatrice chuckles. “Thanks, Ava.” A yawn catches her by surprise. Hesitation flickers across Ava’s face. 

“Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?” 

“Not at all. I did say I wouldn’t leave you alone, didn’t I?” 

It’s Ava’s turn to yawn. “That’s true.” She flips onto her other side, so that Beatrice is spooning her, their hands still intertwined. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Their hands rest together above Ava’s heart. “For everything.” 

Beatrice smiles, and squeezes Ava’s hand. “Of course.” Ava is a solid warmth in her arms. Night rests timeless around them. The moonlight is a bare highlight, the room draped in comforting darkness. She can glimpse the edge of Ava’s half-smile from where she lies. Beatrice feels her eyes droop and a flush of affection through her body, and she can’t help herself from leaning down to press a light kiss to the back of Ava’s head. 

Before impulsive panic can burst open again, Ava lets out a contented sigh and snuggles deeper into Beatrice’s embrace. “Goodnight, Bea.”

“Goodnight, Ava.” Beatrice hushes her stuttering heart. She reminds herself that this is simply an act of reassurance for someone rudely thrown into life and death demon fighting. It’s a thing that friends do. Friends provide safety and comfort. They can be affectionate and caring. A friend would try and forget the way that Ava makes her smile. A friend would ignore the sweet ache of fondness for Ava’s laugh. A friend would try desperately, like her faith depends on it, to not imagine kissing Ava softly. 

Beatrice closes her eyes and forces herself to recognize the inevitable. If that’s what being a friend means...maybe she can’t be one. 

  
The thought sits commanding in her mind, but even such worries drift away eventually, and soon she finds herself joining Ava in deep, dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally dipping a toe into this fandom...I can't help it, this dynamic is too good. And there's nothing like some good ol' nightmare hurt/comfort to get the ball rolling! 
> 
> I have no idea where this might go. I just like exploring the moments of quiet in between demon-hunting plot, so get ready for me to studiously ignore any canon plot. 
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @feveredreams!


	2. acrobatics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you learn 18 years of bodily awareness in a few days? Maybe not, but that won't stop Ava from trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I have problems with the way the Halo just suddenly "fixed" Ava's disability. I understand that watching her struggle to learn how to walk use her limbs probably wasn't their vision for compelling TV, but I call that cowardice!! enjoy some more ~emotions~ and gay panic.

Ava could fill a book with all the things she’s missed lying in a bed for twelve years. Learning how to swim, for one. Properly kissing somebody, for another. She can hop, skip, jump, run, sprint, flail about, dance, stretch, shrug...it’s a world of freedom she’d imagined for countless hours. And now she’s living in it. 

People who have been in control of their limbs for their whole lives seem to frown on the casual prancing and jumping that Ava breaks into. Apparently skipping from place to place is too informal for the Halo Bearer. Apparently learning how to cartwheel or how to do a handstand is not part of Warrior Nun training. Apparently she’s supposed to already  _ know  _ that trying to jump onto raised surfaces with both feet is a recipe for a broken nose. 

Well,  _ now  _ she knows. 

So since nuns tend to have crazy early bedtimes, Ava sneaks out at night to really give her new limbs a whirl. She’s got so much to  _ try.  _ Even if the Halo grants her superhuman strength and agility, that doesn’t mean that her muscles always want to cooperate. She’s still prone to tripping over her own feet and stubbing her extremities on objects much closer than she thinks they are. That means wielding a sword makes her a danger to everyone in proximity, including herself. So she sneaks out, and she does cartwheels. 

Her excuse is physical training. Her true reason is the sheer joy of running, of jumping, of rolling around in the grass like a child because she never got to  _ be  _ one. A few nights ago, she’d practiced vaulting over a low wall and throwing in a tumble at the end just because she could. Tonight, though, she recalls the videos of parkour experts on TV and decides to give her ninja skills a try. 

The night is dim, hazy clouds covering the moon. Ava’s been at the Cat’s Cradle long enough to know where everything is though, so she navigates outside with ease. She’s been eyeing the side of the building for a while now — the bits and pieces of architecture look like they’d make amazing handholds, and there’s an itch in her hands to climb as high as she can.

Ava spends a moment stretching. She’s still sore from today’s training sessions. Lilith never goes easy on her, and while Ava’s getting better at calling her powers when she needs them, it’s an imperfect science. She’d also spent a good few hours learning how to work the firearms in the armory with Camila. For someone with such an innocent demeanor, Camila knows a truly astonishing amount about firearms. And then she’d spent some time poring over the Warrior Nun journal with Beatrice.

Ava’s trying to be more helpful. It’s hard to, though, when Beatrice is the one who can translate four languages without batting an eye. All Ava really does is ask questions and watch Beatrice at work. Not that she’s complaining, of course! It’s a pleasant way to pass the time, certainly. Beatrice gets a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows when she’s focusing on a particularly difficult passage, and even though she still chastises Ava for not paying attention, there’s a tinge of fond amusement to it now. Ava thinks that Beatrice herself hasn’t even noticed the way her strict demeanor has softened. It makes Ava’s heart swell warmly, to realize that she may have friends. 

Properly limber, Ava strides up to the wall. There are divots and cracks here, worn by the passage of time. She wants to leap immediately into some superhero antics, but takes a breath before she can follow through on the impulse. “Baby steps,” she mutters to herself. Last thing she needs is to crack her head open because she’s trying to be cool. 

It’s easy enough to pull herself up onto the first ledge of a window on the first floor. There’s another outcropping further up, a jut of stone right above the window just out of reach. Ava shifts her feet, solidifies her stance on the dusty windowsill. 

“Hup!” Jumping to grab it works easily, but now she’s left dangling from increasingly sweaty fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ava chants, feet scrabbling against the side of the window. Her toe catches in a crack and she heaves herself upwards. It’s close — there are rough scrapes on her fingers that are already sealing themselves — but she’s up, balancing precariously on a tiny ledge. She grabs at the irregular surface of the wall, clinging to tiny outcroppings.

The ground looks a lot further away than she’d imagined. “Oh, boy.” She’s  _ really  _ far up. Ava averts her gaze. _ I wonder if the Halo can make me fly. Or give me angel wings? That’s a reasonable request. Angel halo, angel wings?  _ She looks up. There’s another window above her now. It would be absurdly easy to keep going up. Her calf is starting to cramp from being on the ledge, and her fingers are slipping. Maybe she can climb in the window up there. Yeah, that’s a good plan. 

Ava tries to remember how the parkour experts did it. It looked so easy, the way they flew up walls.  _ Momentum, that’s how they do it.  _ Ava takes stock of herself, clinging desperately to the wall.  _ Yup, definitely lost that.  _ “Fuck it.” She grits her teeth. She leaps for the next handhold. 

She’s concerned about how mad Mother Superior is going to be about this broken stone for all of two seconds until she hits the ground with a  _ thud  _ that knocks all the air out of her lungs. A strangled, “Ow,” is the only thing that manages to escape her mouth for a long, breathless moment. Distantly, Ava realizes the clouds are shifting.  _ Wow, the moon looks really pretty tonight.  _ Then the pain sets in, starbursts of agony exploding down her back and shoulders. At least it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken, just bruised. Her pride definitely is. 

The window above her flings open. “Hello?” 

_ Oh, of course that’s Beatrice’s room.  _ “Hey,” Ava gasps. “What’s up?” Beatrice peers down at her for a moment, eyes widening. Then she disappears. “Hi to you, too,” Ava whispers. God, why is it so hard to  _ breathe?  _ Maybe she’ll just lie here for a moment. Just take a breather. It’s not too uncomfortable. She could lie here for the rest of the night and figure out how to deal with this later. 

“What’s going on?” There’s the sound of footsteps on stone, then Beatrice bursts into the courtyard. “Ava? Are you hurt? Are we under attack?” 

“Don’t...worry about it,” Ava manages. The smile she tries for feels more like a grimace. “Just give me...one second...to make sure I’m in one piece.” She wiggles her toes. “Then I can explain.” She wiggles her fingers. Good. The static-y feeling that’s beginning to edge into panic starts to ebb. She’s okay. All systems are go. Beatrice’s face appears in her vision as she kneels by Ava’s side, reaching out to lay a hand on Ava’s arm. Ava frowns at the glint of metal between Beatrice’s knuckles. “Are you —” 

“I thought you were in danger,” Beatrice huffs. She relaxes incrementally at Ava’s blasé attitude, but she’s still tense, shurikens tucked between her fingers. “Are you?” 

Gingerly, Ava sits up. “Ow.” The Halo is certainly taking its time. “Uh, no. Unless you count gravity as a threat, you can put away the sharp things.” She massages her side and hisses at the blooming bruises there. “It’s just me.” There’s a hint of pounding pain in her skull that Ava’s not quite ready to approach. She looks up at Beatrice from cataloguing her aches and pains and finds herself immediately distracted.  _ Oh, wow. Legs. Skin. _

Beatrice is just in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, boots haphazardly laced up at the possibility of combat, and Ava can’t drag her gaze away from the long, elegant line of her calves, the strength implied in her thighs, the strong line of her forearms. Ava knows, logically, that Beatrice is strong. She can take down a squadron of grown men by herself, for God’s sake. But still...wow. She’s thankful for the weak moonlight; at least the darkness covers up most of her blush. Ava swallows. Suddenly her throat is very dry. 

“Ava?” There’s still concern etched in Beatrice’s expression, but it’s now joined with a creeping suspicion. She nudges one of the pieces of chipped stone that had been Ava’s downfall. “Did you...were you climbing the wall?” 

Ava wants to laugh at how high Beatrice’s eyebrows go, but valiantly resists the urge. “No! I was doing...cartwheels.” Beatrice stares at her. Ava sighs. “Yes, I was climbing the wall.” She rolls her neck experimentally, swinging her arms around, and gets several twinges of pain as her reward. Still healing. “I won’t be trying again in the future, don’t worry.” 

Beatrice tucks the shurikens into a neat stack in the center of her palm. She shakes her head, grasping for words. “But...why?” 

Ava forcefully drags her gaze upwards, away from lithe legs and to the confused look on Beatrice’s face. “I, uh, like to test out my body. At night.” She cringes.  _ Oh, terrible wording, Ava.  _ “I’m still getting used to the whole ‘not paralyzed’ thing,” she hurries. “The Halo helps. So does training, it’s just…” A tinge of embarrassment warms her belly as she struggles for words. How does she explain this feeling of being behind the curve? It’s like the worst case of FOMO ever. Beatrice joins her on the ground, sitting so close their legs touch, patient as ever. “The basic stuff. Running, jumping, it’s all still new to me. I have no...bodily awareness.” She chuckles, but it’s without humor. “Do you know how often I bump into things?” Ava gestures at her body. “I’m still familiarizing myself with...myself.” 

Beatrice re-stacks the shurikens on the ground with delicate movements. The confusion on her face has morphed into contemplation. Ava sneaks an appreciative, lingering look while she can.  _ It’s a good thing the nuns wear habits most of the time.  _ Beatrice is so  _ pretty,  _ hair down and sleep-mussed. She looks soft. She looks human, touchable, a far cry from the put-together mastermind energy she exudes during the day. Ava aches for more. There is hurt and pain beneath the calm competence; some strange urge compels her to commiserate, to soothe long sorrows with shared burdens. 

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice says finally, each word measured with intent, “for not realizing sooner. It’s easy to assume that you’re as experienced as other people, and we’ve been taking the easy way out. But that’s not fair to you.” She places the last shuriken onto the stack, then turns to look Ava in the eye. The earnest apology in her eyes is not what Ava’s expecting. A gentle scolding, perhaps, feels merited. Not this genuine sadness and apology. 

“Thanks,” is all she can find in response. “It’s okay, it’s not like I want to be babied or anything. I’ve just never had the chance to do what I want, go where I like. It’s nice.” The large ache is starting to fade from her back. “It’s also easier to do weird things when everyone’s asleep.” 

“Like fall off walls?” Beatrice levels a look at her. Ava grins bashfully, and watches as a slow, reluctant smile curls Beatrice’s lips. “I’ll talk to the others,” she declares. “We can stop pushing so hard, or work on more fundamental exercises. I’ll look into some physical therapy techniques, we can work that into our routines, start building up from the foundations.” She’s half-talking to herself, and there’s a flurry of warm affection in Ava’s chest. 

“Really?” It comes out more incredulous than she’d meant it. Probably because what she really means is “ _ why? _ ”, but Beatrice seems to sense this. 

“Of course, Ava.” She drops a hand to rest on Ava’s leg, a reassuring touch. “You’re more than just the Halo Bearer, you’re a person. You’re my friend.” She seems pained at the thought of anything else. “I…” Beatrice hesitates. Her eyes flick away for a moment, then return to meet Ava’s gaze with a quiet intensity. “Of course.”

Ava wonders if Beatrice knows just how much these casual promises are ruining her. Each easy confirmation of trust and support digs the hole a little deeper, draws Ava a little further into something she hasn’t yet labeled. Nobody’s ever made such promises to Ava. Beatrice must not know that hearing them now tugs at the raw threads of Ava’s loneliness and stitches them together irrevocably. Ava almost —  _ almost —  _ wishes Beatrice would stop being so supportive, stop being so kind and beautiful, because Ava can’t fight it. She can’t stop the tumbling, escalating emotions that make her chest hurt and make her smile too wide and too often and make her skin tingle when Beatrice touches her.  _ It’s just attraction,  _ she tries to convince herself. _ Nothing more.  _

“Why were you so nice to me when I first got here?” she asks. Beatrice gives her a small bemused frown. 

“Was I? If I recall correctly, I told you to stop treating everything like a joke and implied that you were self-centered.” 

Ava shrugs loosely. “Well, low bar again. Lilith spent half an hour trying her best to beat the shit out of me. You talked to me like I was a person, not a...an unfortunate accident.” 

An unreadable emotion flits across Beatrice’s face, too quick for Ava to parse. “Because you aren’t one. An accidental Halo Bearer, maybe. But a fortunate one, in my opinion.” Ava tilts her head. 

“Fortunate? How?” 

Beatrice chuckles, ducking her head. “You didn’t hear this from me, but...given that Lilith has set the low bars for how you were treated when you first arrived, perhaps it’s a good thing that you got the Halo. And…” She squeezes Ava’s thigh lightly. “It allowed us to meet. I consider that fortunate.” 

The grin is starting to hurt Ava’s face, but she couldn’t stop it if she tried. “Even when I’m bothering you while you do research?” 

“You’re not bothering me,” Beatrice responds, and there’s unexpected force in the words. They both pause, surprised. Ava searches Beatrice’s face for any deception, any signs of a kind lie. Nothing. Nothing but authenticity. “You’re never a bother, Ava. I…” Beatrice chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m just not used to people being interested in my work. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that you were bothering me.” 

Ava makes a face. “Oh, it’s fine. It’s sort of a holdover. When you get told you’re a burden all your life, it’s hard to not believe it.”

Beatrice nods solemnly, sorrow etching itself in the crease of her brow. “I understand how that can feel,” she murmurs. With the tip of her finger, she pushes the stack of shurikens, shifting them closer to unbalancing. Her voice is contained, like she’s afraid of the emotion behind the words. “Get told you’re a monster all your life and you start to believe that, too.” The stack topples with a clatter. Ava watches her stoic mask stutter, a tight pain flickering beneath. Ava’s chest clenches sympathetically. Then Beatrice exhales, dusts her hands off, and gets to her feet. The crack in her façade is gone, replaced with determination. She offers Ava a hand. “Come on.” Ava takes it without hesitation, hopping to her feet only somewhat confused. 

“Come where?” 

“What’s something you want to learn? Physically?” 

Ava rocks back and forth on her feet, scrunching her nose. “Well...I don’t  _ actually  _ know how to do a cartwheel.” 

Beatrice inclines her head. “Would you like me to teach you?” 

Clearly Beatrice doesn’t want to have that conversation tonight. That’s okay. Ava files it away for later. Maybe another time they can begin to talk about their scars. “Hell yeah.” Ava bounces on her feet. “Please, impart your knowledge upon me, o wise one.” 

Beatrice rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile playing across her lips. “Nerd.”

Ava gasps in delight. “Hey!” Beatrice shoots her a grin.    
  


“All right. So first, you’ll need momentum…”

* * *

It’s nearing midnight when Ava finally manages a full cartwheel without falling flat on her face. “Woo!” She hops up, hair a mess, beaming. “I did it!” 

Beatrice is smiling too. She’s pulled her hair up into a bun, but the casual softness of the hairs falling out of it makes Ava’s chest ache. “You did.” She stifles a yawn with her hand. “You’re a quick learner.” 

“You didn’t have to stay up,” Ava says, even though every part of her is delighted that Beatrice did. “Thanks for teaching me, though.” 

“It’s nothing.” Beatrice gestures back towards the building. “Walk with me?” 

“Sure!” Ava skips over and, on a whim, loops her arm through Beatrice’s. The other woman says nothing, but Ava’s already intimately familiar with the subtle shift in her eyes to know she’s hiding a smile. “You’re a really good friend,” Ava informs her. The late hour has loosened her tongue somewhat and the logical part of her is throwing up warning signs for her to shut up. She ignores them. “I’ve never really had that before.” 

“I’m glad I can be there for you,” Beatrice murmurs. There’s a downturn to her voice that’s new, but Ava writes it off as late night exhaustion. Beatrice still tugs Ava closer and they walk, arm in arm, back to the rooms. 

There’s a flickering torch still lit in the hall that provides a modicum of illumination, shadows dancing in the corners, and they pause, caught in the dim light. “Goodnight, Ava.” Beatrice gives her a gentle smile that seems to be reserved just for her. Ava’s heart skips several beats. “Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Beatrice.” Ava unlinks their arms reluctantly and they split, heading off to their respective rooms. Walking slow, she glances back over her shoulder impulsively. She isn’t expecting to see Beatrice looking back. Their gazes connect and Ava can feel warmth on her cheeks as she glances away quickly.  _ Oops. Caught in the act.  _

“Go to bed, Ava,” Beatrice calls softly, and suddenly the space between them feels too large. Ava itches to close it again, and the urge is far too strong to be called just attraction.  _ Oh. Oh, no.  _

She throws up a sloppy salute. “Yes, ma’am.” It’s a Herculean feat to not look back again, and it’s only when she’s safely inside her own room that she allows the realization to fully wash over her. Curious, anxious excitement kindles in the pit of her stomach. This isn’t some throwaway attraction. Ava groans.  _ Fuuuuck.  _

  
This is a full-fledged  _ crush.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually do know how to cartwheel, but I have no idea where to even begin teaching someone else to do it *shrug*


	3. midnight raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking in kitchens at one AM is something that can be so intimate, you know?

Beatrice is starting to nod off in the middle of a particularly complex German translation when a distinct metallic clatter reaches her ears. It’s a testament to long hours of combat training when she doesn’t freeze, but ducks beneath the table before her half-asleep brain can even catch up. She breathes through her mouth silently and gauges the situation. 

The library is barely lit by the lamp next to her table, the rest of the room dark and empty. She’d gotten carried away with this section of the Warrior Nun journal — this German woman liked to document  _ literally  _ everything — and a quick glance at the clock tells her it’s just past one AM. She ought to be the only up at this hour. The sound had come from down the hall, which could mean anything from the kitchen to the armory. There aren’t any notable demons currently after them — there shouldn’t be, at least. The Tarask taken care of, they should be safe from any real dangers. Still, Beatrice is wary.  _ Should  _ is not a certainty. 

She marks where she is in the translation and creeps into the hallway. Another soft clatter, definitely coming from the kitchen. The torch in the hallway is out, which gives her good cover to tiptoe up to the doorway and peer in. 

The kitchen is a large room, made to serve dozens, and two long wooden tables take up most of the space in the center. Only one light is on, and it mixes with the harsh cold glow of the open fridge. The illumination throws stretching shadows up on the cabinets. There are soft noises of movement, the clink of things being moved, and a quiet, “aha!” that Beatrice immediately recognizes. She sighs and stands up straight. 

“I suppose this is an upgrade from falling off walls.” 

Ava jumps nearly a foot in the air and phases through the fridge door, cursing all the way.  _ “FUck -  _ shit, Christ on a cracker —” Beatrice struggles mightily to hide the amusement sneaking onto her face and is glad that Ava’s too busy trying to un-phase her arm from the fridge door to notice. “ _ Mother  _ of  _ fuck,  _ Beatrice!” Ava finally yanks her arm out from its frozen prison, breathing hard, eyes wide. She points an accusatory finger in Beatrice’s direction. “You scared the  _ shit  _ out of me.” 

Even the startled, exclamatory way Ava says her name makes Beatrice’s heart quicken enough to forget to reprimand her for language. Stupid heart. “And  _ I _ thought you were a thief or a demon, so I think we’re even.” Beatrice eyes the half-assembled sandwich on the counter. “Hungry?” 

“I almost dropped the pickle jar,” Ava mutters, running a hand through her hair. “Do you know how much of a mess that would’ve been? God. Pickles everywhere.” She seems to finally hear Beatrice’s question. “Oh, yeah. I had a food dream, and then I woke up hungry. And I’ve never been able to make my own food before!” She brightens. “So, sandwich.” They both look at the collection of food items on the plate. That’s the kindest name Beatrice can give it, because it is _not_ a sandwich. 

“What...kind of sandwich is that?” she asks. Maybe this is just something she’s never heard of before. At first she gives it the benefit of the doubt, but as she realizes what exactly is on that plate, the benefit she’s giving lessens. Turkey and peanut butter on a tortilla with hot sauce and pickles is not listed as a sin in the Bible, but Beatrice is now wondering if she can propose an amendment. 

Ava pauses. There’s a half-bashful look on her face that hints at mistakes being made. “It is an invention,” she declares hesitantly. The cold blue light from the open fridge sharpens the worry starting to tighten at the corner of her eyes. Beatrice looks at the “sandwich”, then back at Ava. “I have  _ never  _ made a sandwich before,” Ava says, eyes wide, “and I could  _ not _ find the bread—” 

“It could be good,” Beatrice tries, but it’s a weak attempt and they both know it. 

Ava looks at the sandwich and sighs. Her stomach growls and the sound echoes a little in the big empty kitchen. She looks so put-out, a pout beginning to form, that Beatrice can’t help but chuckle. “Please throw that out,” she says. “I’ll show you where the bread is.” She restrains herself from any further sandwich-making advice. Culinary skills are the area she’s most lacking in (although it appears Ava is giving her a run for her money) and she prefers getting impressed looks from Ava, not otherwise.

Bread acquired, Ava tries again. “Okay, I wanted something new, but this will have to do.” The arrival of a proper sandwich vehicle seems to have triggered memories of more common sandwich combinations, and she settles on ham and cheese. “Sooo. What are you still doing up?” she asks, the sandwich finished. “It’s nearly one. I left you in the library, at what, eleven?” 

“I was reading,” Beatrice says. She’s starting to feel the late hour. “Got into the flow and lost track of time.” A slow molasses ache is making itself known deep in the hollow of her bones, and she leans against the counter, fighting a yawn. “This German nun catalogs her every meal. I’ve never seen more words for sausage in my life.” Ava giggles, then purses her lips like she’s trying not to laugh. Beatrice frowns. “What?” 

“It’s just —” Ava exhales. She’s trying to pin the corners of her mouth down to keep the grin from breaking through, and failing spectacularly. “You don’t even  _ like  _ sausage,” she finally manages, giggling. 

Beatrice wracks her brain for any occasion in which she said she didn’t like sausage, and comes up empty. “I don’t —” Ava wriggles her eyebrows, stifles another fit of giggles, and Beatrice feels a deep, tired sigh escape her lungs.  _ “Ava.”  _

“I’m sorry! It was a bad joke, but I couldn’t help it!” Ava puts her hands up to placate Beatrice, still laughing. She steels her face into a serious expression that looks so much more pretentious and absurd that Beatrice is the one to break out into laughter this time. 

“That was a terrible joke,” Beatrice reprimands, “so I expect better next time.” A strange lightness buoys her heart that she doesn’t have time to unpack. They’re just friends, laughing in the kitchen at one AM, as friends do. If she doesn’t think too hard about why she’s willing to hear a million more terrible dick jokes or why she still hasn’t gone to bed yet despite her body yearning to, then she’ll be fine. 

“Okay, I’ll work on it.” Ava chews pensively. “Oh! Are you thirsty?” Beatrice’s eyes flick to the alluring curve of Ava’s neck and the sharp dip of her collarbone in the shadows. She swallows. 

“Um—”

“I can teach you how to make the best hot chocolate  _ ever,”  _ Ava declares. She gives Beatrice a quirked smile. “As penance, for my terrible joke.” 

“And for the first sandwich,” Beatrice adds. “I’m sorry, but that was a true atrocity.” 

Ava gasps dramatically and drapes her hand over her forehead. “You wound me, Beatrice.” 

“Would you rather I lie, and let you suffer the consequences of your actions?” Beatrice raises an eyebrow and infuses deeper inflection into her words. She can match Ava’s dramatics, no problem. 

Ava grins, delighted, then arranges her face into one of mock hurt. “I thought you liked me?” Her expression is still verging on playful, no sign of acknowledgement of the depth of the question she’s just asked. 

Beatrice can’t control the way her heart drops and rises at the same time, a rollercoaster of reactions and emotions battling to be obeyed. “I do,” she manages, fighting to keep her voice level. How can telling the truth feel so much like lying? “Which is why I didn’t let you eat that sandwich.” 

Ava’s expression of faux injury breaks into a smile. “Okay,” she admits, “that sandwich probably wouldn’t have won any cooking shows.” The pretense dropped, she looks soft and almost shy in a too-big T-shirt and sleep shorts. Beatrice can imagine going to bed with her, cuddling up into a tangle of limbs and kissing her cheek, her neck — “Bea?” Ava looks concerned, and for a terrifying moment Beatrice thinks she’s done something wrong. “You good? Went quiet there for a moment.” 

Beatrice clears her throat and hopes that it’s too dark for Ava to see her blush. “Just tired,” she mumbles. A bubbling panic is starting to seize her lungs. “I’m not very good at cooking either,” she blurts, because Ava’s staring at her still and she can’t meet her gaze. “Mary jokes that if I even think about touching the stove, something gets set on fire.”

Ava blinks. “You mean there  _ is  _ something you’re bad at?” She nudges Beatrice with her leg, excited. “We can be bad at cooking together! I promise, this hot chocolate will probably  _ not  _ set things on fire. Doing’s different from thinking, anyways.” 

Doing  _ is  _ different from thinking. Beatrice recalls all the times she’s equated the two, all the Bible lessons on good thoughts and kind intentions. Thought has always equaled action. Yet...such a casual phrase from Ava has years of religious indoctrination wavering in Beatrice’s mind. “How do you know?” she asks, straining to keep her voice nonchalant. A little spark flares in her chest, sensing hope. Beatrice can feel the restraints of tradition and harsh lessons every time she looks at Ava with anything beyond platonic affection and now leaps at the chance for freedom, for even a small crack in the manacles.

Ava doesn’t seem to notice Beatrice is suddenly hanging onto her every work like her life depends on it. She begins opening cabinets, searching for something. “It’s simple. No matter how long I laid in that bed, wishing and dreaming of  _ doing  _ something, nothing ever changed. Trust me, I thought long and hard about everything there was to think about. I tried hoping the nuns would die, I tried hoping they would suddenly win the lottery and live long lives. Pretty sure you can guess what happened.”

Beatrice swallows. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Ava spins so she’s facing Beatrice, expression earnest and open. She throws her hands in the air. “Nothing! I got migraines from trying to force things to happen. It doesn’t matter what you think. It’s always about what you do.” She imparts this last bit with a proud little bounce, and Beatrice forces the overly-analytical part of her brain to shut up and consider, just  _ consider,  _ the possibility that Ava’s right. “Also, where are the mugs?” 

Beatrice points Ava to the right cabinet, mind churning. “Over there.”  _ Thinking isn’t acting.  _ Novel, yet so simple. A good thought, a bad thought, neither matters until she makes a move. 

“Which one’s your favorite?” She looks up to find Ava surveying the wide array of cups and mugs before her. “Oo, no, let me guess.” She runs her finger along the row, muttering to herself. “Probably not that one…” She skips the animal-shaped ones and several souvenir mugs, to Beatrice’s relief. “Hmm...it’s either this one”—she settles on a wide gray mug with a watercolor landscape sketched abstractly across it—“or this one.” The second mug is a sleek black affair with geometric shapes etched into it. “No, wait, this one!” She holds up a novelty mug that has “NUN OF YOUR BUSINESS!” printed on it in a big bold font, beaming victoriously. 

“I can’t believe we still have that,” Beatrice says. “I think Mary got that for Lilith as a gag gift one Christmas, and she refused to even look at it.”

Ava lights up in a way that means trouble. “Ooh, can I have it? If nobody else is using it?” 

Beatrice realizes with fond exasperation that the cursed mug has just found its perfect owner. “Go for it.” She shakes her head with a smile, already anticipating the others’ reactions. “Mary will be glad that  _ someone’s  _ using it.” 

“Yes!” Ava clutches the mug like it’s priceless. “Was I close, though? About yours?” 

She’s so adorable, excitable and eager in a way that reminds Beatrice of a puppy. “You were close,” she says, and plucks the black mug from the shelf. “Good guess.” 

Ava fists pumps. How is she this energetic at one AM? It must be the Halo. No normal person is this enthusiastic about mugs in the middle of the night. “Hey, it wasn’t a guess.” She points a finger at Beatrice. “I know you.” She says this proudly with a hint of shared secrecy, like they’re in on something together. Then she winks.    
  


Beatrice is  _ sure  _ her heart stops, just completely ceases to function.  _ I know you.  _ The cynical, scared part of her that sounds like her mother scoffs. Nobody  _ knows  _ her, knows all that pain and the sorrow and the hate that she fights against every day. How could anyone even begin to comprehend it? Nobody would  _ care _ to comprehend it. 

Then Ava holds her hand out, palm up. “I do also know where your chocolate is! Trust me, this stuff will blow you away.” 

It’s instinct at this point to take her hand and follow. Such a small action, yet such deep marks it leaves. There are people who understand long echoing pain. And despite her every attempt to be unknowable in order to protect herself, there is an exception, an unique weakness. “Like Kryptonite,” she murmurs, and Ava glances over. 

“Hmm?” 

“I, uh, said hot chocolate is my Kryptonite,” Beatrice explains. She can’t focus on a better excuse than that, not with Ava’s fingers interlocked with hers and tugging her forward. “I have a fierce sweet tooth.” It’s the truth again, but it feels like a lie when what she really wants to say is  _ I might like you too much and while caring about you is easy, you caring about  _ me _ is breaking down my worldly paradigm.  _ Those dangerous words remain, though, locked through sheer force of will, and Beatrice remembers to breathe. 

Ava lets go of Beatrice’s hand when they come to a stop in front of the spice cabinet, rifling through jars and bottles. She doesn’t miss the way Ava’s thumb brushes across the back of her hand right before letting go, and the tiny motion makes Beatrice miss an intimacy she’s barely experienced. Is it foolishness to miss something you’ve just barely tasted? Does missing something count as thinking or acting? 

“The secret is the vanilla and cinnamon,” Ava confides, leaning over and lowering her voice as if the silent shadows will steal this culinary secret. “ _ I _ haven’t actually made it before, but Diego snuck out one night and made it for me.” She’s procured a pot from somewhere and fiddles with the stove for a moment before a flame leaps to life. Beatrice watches with a hesitant curiosity as she pours the milk, adds the chocolate and a few drops of vanilla extract. “Best thing you’ll ever taste.” 

Beatrice’s treacherous mind responds with  _ Even sweeter than you?  _ “Do you like cooking?” she asks instead, keeping an iron grip on the impulse to close the distance and do something stupid. Somehow, Ava Silva sneaks past all her well-maintained defenses like...well, like phasing through walls. 

“Theoretically,” Ava says. The rhythmic stirring of the wooden spoon is lulling, and Beatrice finds her eyes wandering. What are they doing? It’s late, it’s dark. They’re alone in the kitchen. Ava’s making her hot chocolate. With the quiet air around them it feels like they’re the only people awake in the world, and she can’t keep her gaze from wandering to Ava’s hands, her mouth, her neck, her wrists….“So far, yes. But this isn’t  _ real  _ cooking yet, so.” Ava gives an eloquent shrug. “Here, can you stir the shit out of this for a moment?” She gestures for Beatrice to take over. 

She startles out of a dazed reverie. “Yes. Stir the shit out of this, huh?” She studiously ignores Ava’s delighted noise at the curse word. “You had better be getting the whipped cream,” she adds, as Ava returns to the fridge. “It won’t even break the top ten hot chocolates I’ve ever had if it doesn’t have whipped cream.” 

Ava turns to stare at her, wide-eyed. “Of  _ course.  _ This may be the second time I’ve stepped into a kitchen, but I have thousands of hours of cooking shows in here.” She taps her temple. “Whipped cream is a necessity.” The milk warmed and the chocolate stirred the shit out of, Ava tops each mug with a messy whipped cream swirl and presents Beatrice the final product. “Tell me what you think.” 

Hyper-aware of Ava’s anticipatory gaze, Beatrice takes a sip. Then another, longer drink. The sweetness sinks into her tongue, not too heavy, a soothing warmth spreading down her body. “Oh. Wow. That’s  _ very  _ good.” 

Ava beams, rocking on her feet, and Beatrice swears she glimpses a gentle pulse of gold behind her. “Told you! Call me Masterchef.” She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, pleased. “Oh. You’ve got, uh…” She gestures, then leans in. She swipes a bit of whipped cream off Beatrice’s nose with her thumb, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Cute,” she remarks. Magnetized, Beatrice’s gaze follows Ava’s thumb as she lifts it to her mouth and licks the whipped cream off. 

Uncomfortable heat prickles across her skin. It’s too warm to be drinking hot chocolate, too warm to be less than a step away from Ava, too warm to be still and silent together in the half-darkness. She looks up, unable to resist. At this short distance, leaning on the counter facing each other, Beatrice can see Ava’s pupils blown wide. The smile is fading from her eyes, swallowed by something dark and intense.  _ Think, don’t act, don’t act —  _ Beatrice can’t look away as Ava bites her lip, can’t hear anything but the pounding of her heart in her ears. She’s physically aware that they’re still standing a foot apart. In the freefall moment caught between them, though, Beatrice can feel the pressure of Ava’s gaze on her, can feel the pull of an irresistible gravity drawing them closer and closer still, and the seductive tension of it lurches in her stomach and sharpens into panic. 

They both speak simultaneously, with a jerky start like the silence is suddenly frightening. 

“Beatrice, I —”

“We should probably —”

They both stop, and lock eyes again. Ava gestures. “You go first.” That growing intensity in her eyes is dim now, and her smile is just friendly. It’s almost as if she’d imagined the whole thing. 

_ Hey, I want to kiss you until I forget everything but your name. Also, fantastic hot chocolate.  _ “It’s getting late,” Beatrice says, proud to hear that her voice is steady. “Thank you for the hot chocolate.” She holds the mug between her hands and steps away reluctantly, out of the tense space they’ve created. “You should get some rest, too.” It hurts to cut her words cold and short like this, to be curt where they once were laughing together. Still, it is a necessity. She can  _ think  _ about kissing Ava, daydream realities where things aren’t ruined by the uncontrollable emotions in her chest, but she cannot actually  _ do _ the ruining.  _ Think, don’t act.  _ “Goodnight.” Her feet struggle to take the steps needed to leave the kitchen. She doesn’t look back, just imagines the hurt and confusion on Ava’s face to add to her own heartache. 

“Goodnight,” Ava calls. There. Beatrice doesn’t need to imagine it now. The roughly-hidden, puzzled hurt comes through clear in Ava’s voice. Beatrice forces herself to walk, to take one step after another and escape from the stricken room.  _ Leave _ , before she can begin to regret it.

  
_ Think, don’t act. Think —  _ about the downturn of Ava’s frown, the confused wrinkle in her brow —  _ don’t act —  _ on the painful desire to rush back, to explain, to smooth the rejection with touch and word. Beatrice takes a violent gulp of hot chocolate, and it burns all the way down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tension builds, dun dun dunnnn
> 
> come chat w me on tumblr @feveredreams!


	4. movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> teenage rom-coms are the best backdrop to self-revelations.

It’s been four days, eleven hours, and thirty nine minutes since Ava last spoke to Beatrice outside of polite queries and platitudes, and she’s discovering the limits to her ability to remain similarly calm. She finds her meals tasteless when Beatrice excuses herself to eat in the library, quoting a need to continue her research that Ava knows is only half-true. Each only-friendly smile is a knife in the chest. And she can’t seem to catch Beatrice alone, away from prying eyes and curious ears, so each rehearsed excuse and explanation remains unspoken and obsessed-over. Four days, eleven hours, and thirty nine minutes of pretending like the night in the kitchen never happened. 

But tonight she’s going to fix that. Between training and research and general nun activities, Camila’s corralled everybody into another movie night. Apparently building team cohesion extends to agreeing that live-action remakes suck and singing along to classic Disney songs, so their once-a-month movie viewing has been begrudgingly accepted by all. There’s no way Beatrice can avoid her when they’re stuck in a room together in the dark for several hours. There’s just some...clarification Ava has to obtain, first. 

She’s in the kitchen (always in the kitchen, what is it with kitchens and important conversations?) with Mary, figuring out movie snacks. She’s been tussling with the idea of asking for advice for as long as Beatrice has been avoiding her. Ava’s confident that she can figure it out by herself, but... _ trust your team,  _ Beatrice had told her, and following Beatrice’s advice is becoming a habit.

Ava waits until Mary’s occupied with tending the popcorn to ask the question. “So, pure hypothetical question here,” she begins, “but what would you do if someone you… _ liked,  _ uh,  _ romantically,  _ started avoiding you after you nearly maybe might’ve kissed?” Mary stops.  _ “Completely _ hypothetical,” Ava emphasizes. 

“Damn, girl,” Mary whistles. “No wonder. You nearly  _ kissed  _ Bea?” 

_ “What —”  _ Ava’s voice jumps half an octave. “Um. This is a  _ hypothetical,”  _ she hurries, “Nobody said anything about anybody named Beatrice!” 

“You didn’t have to,” Mary chuckles. “You ain’t exactly subtle, Ava.” 

Ava flaps her hands dismissively, even as heat creeps into her cheeks. “Subtle! Subtle about what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mary shoots her a pointed, unimpressed look and Ava deflates. “....Okay,” she sighs, glancing at the doorway to make sure they’re still alone. “There may be some... _ feelings,  _ if you wanna call them that. But she’s been avoiding me. I don’t know what to do. I can’t even get her alone to explain myself.” Ava leans back on the counter and lets her head fall back against the cabinet doors with a  _ clunk.  _ “I may...have royally fucked up.” It's habit to add a jovial tone and half-grin to the statement, but both of them can hear it fall flat. It’s hard to cover several days of worry and emotional angst, even with well-practiced jocosity.

“I don’t think you royally fucked up,” Mary says, holding up a finger, “yet.”

Ava scoffs. “Oh, wow, that’s  _ super _ reassuring —”

“Let me finish, angsty teenager,” Mary interrupts. 

_ “Hey  _ I am not —” Mary raises an eyebrow. Ava’s tempted to stick her tongue out, but resists the urge valiantly and shuts her mouth. 

“You haven’t done any morally heinous shit, so that’s why it’s a ‘not yet’. With Beatrice...you gotta be gentle.  _ Especially  _ when it comes to things like that.” Mary turns the flame down on the stove and transfers the popcorn into a bowl with practiced ease. “Her parents weren’t exactly the most understanding type. She’s been through some shit.” 

Ava nods forlornly. “I know. I thought I was reading all the signs right, though.” A sneaking, terrible idea whispers in the back of her mind and she pauses, slow horror creeping into her limbs. “Wait, I — what if I read all the signs completely  _ wrong? _ What if — what if she doesn’t  _ actually  _ like me, and she’s just being nice, and I  _ totally  _ misunderstood and now everything’s awkward  _ forever —”  _ Her voice rises along with the insidious doubt, winding higher into certainty that she’s ruined the closest friendship she’s had. 

“Woah, woah. Take a breath.” Mary steps over to still Ava’s panicked gesticulations. “Hey. Breathe.” Ava looks into Mary’s eyes and forces herself to breathe in. Then out. “Good. Keep on taking deep breaths.” Ava fights the panic down, grounds herself in Mary’s tight grip on her hands. “Before you blow up the kitchen over something that’s not true, what makes you think she  _ doesn't  _ like you?” 

Ava blinks. It seems obvious. “She’s been avoiding me like the plague because I nearly  _ kissed  _ her. I'm trying to give her space, but maybe she doesn’t know how to let me down nicely —” 

“Hey.” Mary’s tone is commanding, and Ava looks up. The intensity in Mary’s eyes is undercut with a familiar exasperation. “You can be really stupid, you know?” 

Ava laughs disbelievingly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Yes. Because you’ve been missing the million other signs Beatrice has been giving you. For Christ’s sake, we’ve been betting on how long it’d take for y’all to get your shit together. I might have to extend my bet.”

“Woah, first of all,  _ rude!  _ Second of all, why didn’t you _ tell _ me?” Ava thinks back on the seating arrangements, the staring. The muffled whispers whenever they’d leave to go to training together. “Also, can I be in on the bet?” 

“What? Of course not, how do you think a bet works?” Mary frowns at her and returns to the popcorn now that the impending danger of Halo Bearer implosion has passed. “Anyways — forget the bet. It’s not easy to jump into things. Bea is all about commitment, not impulse.” The last word is weighted and Ava bristles slightly at the implication. 

“I can be committed! Also, sometimes impulse is a good thing.” 

“Not when your first impulse is to run away from your problems. Don’t fault you 100% for that, but she needs someone who’ll be there. Someone she can trust.” 

Ava frowns.  _ What’s with all the digs at my character today? _ “I can be trustworthy!” 

“You  _ can  _ be. But you gotta prove it, first.” Mary finishes liberally salting the popcorn and tosses one into the air before catching it in her mouth. “You’ve run away from us how many times now?”

“Low blow,” Ava mutters. “I’m gonna be so”— she shakes an emphatic fist —“ _ fucking  _ committed. Watch me.” Still, her heart quails at the thought of facing a just-friendly Beatrice who only gives her brief, empty smiles and sits on the other side of the room. “Uh, so, what would the first step to that be?” 

“Lord help us.” Mary rolls her eyes. “Show her you’ll listen to her concerns. Don’t push too hard. Respect her boundaries. Don’t run away when things get hard.” 

Ava makes a face. “Gross.” 

“What’s gross?” Camila breezes in, carrying a small basket filled with greenery. “I thought it was impossible to mess up popcorn.” 

“Apparently emotional commitment is gross,” Mary remarks, and Ava groans. 

“It was a joke!” 

Mary’s grinning. “I thought you were serious about Beatrice.” 

Ava glances at Camila’s unsurprised expression, then back at Mary.  _ Fuck, this really is no secret, huh?  _ “I  _ am,” _ she says. “But how — how long have you guys known?” 

“A few weeks now,” Camila recalls. She’s set up an array of herbs and what appears to be ginger. The sharp smell fills the kitchen as she goes at it with a knife. “Lilith came up with the bet, though.” 

“Way to throw her under the bus,” Mary chuckles. “We wanted you guys to figure it out yourselves.” 

“Bleh.” Ava scrubs at her face. “I feel like the last one to the party.” 

“Except for maybe Beatrice.” Mary peers at Camila’s laid-out ingredients and the array of mugs on the tray. “Cam, you need help?” 

“I’ll be fine, you guys go ahead. Oh, and Ava?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Don’t act too fast. Or too slow.” She gestures with the knife and it’s simultaneously kindly and threatening.

“That’s cheating,” Mary accuses, “don’t listen to her. Remember, you gotta be gentle.” 

“But not too gentle!” Camila calls as Mary guides Ava out of the kitchen. 

Gentle, but not too gentle. Understanding, and patient, and respectful. Ava can do all those things. For Beatrice? Of course. “So...should I let her come to me, then?” Ava asks as they head towards the TV room. 

Mary ruffles her hair and Ava bats her hand away, but half-heartedly. “That’s a good start.” 

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Lilith asks, and Beatrice looks up from her book to where the other nun is sitting on the ground, a veritable hoard of DVDs spread out on the floor in front of her. Picking out a movie for movie night is a coveted and sacred role. It’s Lilith’s turn, and she’s approaching it with the intensity with which she approaches everything else.

“Hmm? Nothing’s wrong.” Other than the fact that she can’t focus on this novel to save her life. A certain brunette Halo Bearer keeps rudely distracting her with thoughts of romance and intimacy, despite Beatrice going out of her way to avoid said Halo Bearer for the past few days. Apparently there is a grain of truth in the whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” idea.

Lilith doesn’t look up from her intense perusal of the DVDs. “Did Ava do something?” 

Beatrice freezes. _ “What? _ No.” She wrestles her heartbeat back into submission, forces nonchalance into her voice. “What gave you that impression?” 

“You’re sighing every five minutes like a grieving widower,” Lilith says, putting another DVD in the “not tonight” pile. “And you’ve only gotten through five pages the whole time you’ve been sitting there. I know you read faster than that, Bea.” She looks up, and her half-smile is knowing. “And you panicked when I asked you if it was about Ava.”

Beatrice finds that she has no rebuttal to that.  _ “She  _ didn’t do anything.” She bookmarks her spot and pulls her knees up to her chest. The couch is soft and comforting and she wants to sink into it. She would rather disappear than speak these words into existence. But Lilith is looking at her with the slight dip in her brow that means she’s listening and concerned, and who else is she going to talk to about this? “It’s my problem,” Beatrice sighs. “Not hers. I can’t stop… _ thinking _ about her.” It’s the closest she can get to confessing the truth without spilling her turbulent emotions onto the floor and making an absolute mess. She can feel her face heating up. Any words she wants to add cling to the roof of her mouth like peanut butter.  _ I’ve been avoiding her for the past few days because we got dangerously close to a precipice I don't think I can jump from, yet.   
_

Lilith nods, flipping a DVD case in her hands. “How does she make you feel?” There’s no judgement in her eyes, which never fails to surprise Beatrice. There’s only a hint of fondness and gentle encouragement, which starts to loosen the choking words from her lungs. “Personally, Ava still irks me sometimes. But I think she’s starting to grow on me.”    
  


Beatrice’s chuckle is soft but genuine. “She has a habit of doing that. She gets into your life and before you realize it, you care too much for her.” Perhaps not too much. It could be just the right amount, if the situation were different. “She...makes me smile,” Beatrice manages. The simple phrase seems puny in the face of the emotion, words an inadequate expression for the laughter Ava brings. “She...makes me want to have fun again. She reminds me that there are things in life worth living for.”  She hesitates. It seems simple to say  _ I like her, I want to make her happy, I want to see her smile,  _ but the sentiment of  _ wanting  _ still fills her with hot shame. 

“But?” Lilith prompts. 

“But I can’t,” Beatrice whispers, and she hates the way her voice breaks. “The vows, and —” 

“It’s not just the vows,” Lilith interrupts her weak excuse. “Bea. Remember what we talked about?” When Beatrice doesn’t respond, Lilith scoots over to the couch and puts a hand on her knee. “We will never judge you.” She nudges Beatrice. 

“You will never judge me,” Beatrice repeats unsteadily, “and our love for others is God’s greatest grace.” It’s been a while since she’d reapproached the tangled skein of self-loathing she’s been woven into. It takes serious effort to truly listen to the words and let them sink in.

“She makes you happy.” Lilith squints. “God knows she has some growing up to do. But if she makes you happy, then…” She squeezes Beatrice’s knee, eyes serious and intense. “But if she hurts you, I will not hesitate to tear her throat out.” 

Beatrice manages a watery laugh. “Please don’t.” 

“If she treats you well, then it won’t be a problem.” Lilith scoots back over to the pile of DVDs. “So, do you want to scare her into your arms or put her into a romantic mood?” She holds up  _ The Shining  _ and  _ She’s the Man.  _

Beatrice blinks the encroaching tears out of her vision. “Uh...neither? It’s  _ your _ choice tonight.” Also, she has no idea how to approach Ava after avoiding her all week. Her only reassurance (and disappointment) is that Ava seems to have picked up on her avoidance and hasn't pressed harder to seek her out. Her options to smooth this over seem to boil down to confessing or lying, and she wants to do neither.

“Right. And I want you to stop sighing, and for Ava to stop staring at you when she thinks she’s being subtle. So: scare her, or put her into a romantic mood?”

Beatrice’s heart flutters at the thought of Ava’s gaze on her. She’d never noticed anything out of the ordinary. Unless...all those little smiles, the quick glances away… “Wait, she —”

“Ooh, who are we putting in a romantic mood?” Beatrice goes stock-still and Lilith’s eyes widen as Ava skips into the room and tumbles into the recliner next to the couch in a mess of limbs. The momentum sends it nearly rocking over and Ava flails. “WoAH—” Beatrice shoots up to catch it, but suddenly Mary’s there, steadying the chair. Ava looks up at her and Beatrice with a goofy smile. “Hey.” 

“You know, one day the Halo’s gonna stop healing the injuries you get from being a dumbass,” Mary remarks, balancing a bowl of popcorn in her other hand. “Then you’ll learn your lesson.” 

“You’re no fun,” Ava pouts, arms and legs askew as she slides down in the recliner. “Also, you’re the one who pushed me off a cliff.” 

“Never gonna let that go, huh?” 

“Of  _ course _ not, it was like a two-hundred foot drop —” 

Camila enters with a tray balanced in her hands. “All right, cease fire for movie night,” she interrupts, “I have drinks.” There’s a moment of chaos as everybody goes for their drink. After the dust settles, appreciative hums echo around the room. 

“This is delicious,” Beatrice tells Camila. “What’s in it?” 

“It’s honey lemonade with ginger.” Camila takes her own mug and settles on Beatrice’s right side. “Fresh herbs from the garden, too. Tried and true.”

“Yeah, you nailed it,” Mary agrees. She’s taken up residence in her usual seat to the right of the couch. “All right, what’re we watching?” 

Lilith holds up the two movies.  _ “The Shining  _ or  _ She’s the Man.”  _

_ “The Shining  _ is kinda boring,” Ava says. “It’s also not that scary, I’ve seen a lot better.” 

Everyone glances over at her. Mary raises an eyebrow. “You like scary movies?” 

“I  _ love _ horror movies,” Ava says, looking about the room at their expressions. “Why are you all surprised? I used to try and scare my legs into working.” 

“You’d think she’d have a better fight or flight response,” Lilith mutters. “Rom-com it is, then.”

Ava sits halfway up in the chair. “Hey! I heard that.” 

“And you better get out of my chair before I finish setting this up,” Lilith warns, and Ava’s eyes widen. 

“Oop.” She scrambles out of the recliner and glances across the room. There’s another recliner that’s empty on the other side. A swell of displeasure rolls through Beatrice at the thought of Ava so far away, especially after days of self-imposed isolation. Before Beatrice can rein in the impulse, she speaks up. 

“There’s space here.” She pats the couch. Beatrice can  _ feel  _ the self-satisfied smirk emanating from Lilith’s turned back. She quashes the little spark of thrilled panic at the thought of spending the entire movie next to Ava and moves over. 

Ava practically bounces over, beaming. To Beatrice’s relief and disappointment, Ava leans against the armrest, away from her, and tucks her legs up so that her knees are only lightly brushing Beatrice’s crossed legs.  _ That’s...fine. The less touching, the better,  _ she tells herself. The false hunger that sits in the back of her throat and behind her lungs mutters otherwise. Four days is an eternity without Ava’s bright smile and casual touch. The itch to move closer, just an inch, prickles at the inside of her skin. Beatrice bites the inside of her cheek and tries to distract herself with the pain.

“Have you seen this one?” Ava leans over, already whispering even though the movie hasn’t even started. Lilith flicks off the lights. Beatrice is seized with the electric intimacy of low whispers in TV-screen-lighting. “I think I’ve only seen the first half.” 

“A long time ago,” Beatrice replies. Suppressing the urge to move closer funnels the desire into another channel. Now she finds her gaze wandering, lingering, casually cataloguing the geography of Ava’s smile. The gentle sweep of her jaw. The curve of her mouth. The tiny freckle tucked behind her ear like a secret. Four days is a dam built to hold all her wanting, and Ava’s presence now weakens the retaining wall and threatens to drown Beatrice’s willpower. “I recall it being very teenage.” 

Ava glances over and Beatrice jerks her gaze away guiltily. “It is. But it’s also based on Shakespeare. Probably says something about his plays, doesn’t it?” 

Beatrice blinks. “Shakespeare? Which play?” Her gaze glides along the exposed line of Ava’s ankle and the jut of the bone there.  _ Sight is such a poor replacement for touch _ , she thinks, and her fingers twitch with the desire to reach out before she clamps down, hard, on the instinct. 

“Twelfth Night.” Ava points it out as the beginning credits roll. “They even kept most of the names the same.” 

Beatrice considers this new information. “You like Shakespeare?” Ava lifts her drink to her mouth. A bead of condensation rolls languidly down the side of the mug. It meanders down the side of her finger, creeping down the valley of her knuckles and the back of her hand. Beatrice finds her own mouth dry and face warm. She tears her gaze away.

“As much as the next person,” Ava says cryptically. Beatrice wants to ask what Ava thinks a typical person’s opinion of Shakespeare is, but Mary shushes them. 

“Shush, nerds, movie’s starting.” They both fall silent. Ava shoots a quick grin at Beatrice, and she swears that in the brief moment she glimpses a soft light of forgiveness. No, she’s entirely certain; Beatrice has spent hours and considerable thought into cataloguing each of Ava’s smiles, and this one glows with a gentle, if not slightly cautious, forgiveness. 

Her nails are leaving crescent marks in her palm. It takes every year of drilled discipline and practiced placidity for Beatrice to release the taut breath she’s holding and uncurl her fingers.  _ Forgiveness,  _ given without question. Of course she doesn’t deserve it, but she’s starting to think that her long-held ideas of what is deserved aren’t going to stand up much longer to Ava’s casual love.  _ Our love for others is God’s greatest grace.  _ It’s too easy to forget that God’s greatest grace extends to even herself.

“This is one of the stupidest plans ever,” Ava whispers as the disguise montage plays out. “But I love it.” 

Beatrice stares at the absurd scene before her for several moments before she grasps the thread of the plot. “It certainly is a suspension of reality,” she agrees, “but yes. It does make for an entertaining story.” She gazes at Ava next to her, enraptured in the movie, unaware of the gift she has just granted Beatrice. 

It could be that routine has worn confessional absolution into banality, but that the forgiveness of a brief smile carries greater weight startles Beatrice. She can’t keep her gaze from dropping to Ava’s back. A bearer brought back to life with the Halo glowing golden at the nape of her neck. The angel-touched, granting her forgiveness. Truly, a miracle of the highest order. Are not angels His messengers, bringing unbelievable news that must be heard? 

Beatrice sends a silent prayer into the universe and shifts closer to Ava until their legs are pressed together. 

“She’s so oblivious,” Ava murmurs. Beatrice looks up to see Viola-as-Sebastian and Olivia bump into each other on screen, the latter’s lingering gazes obvious. “I also think they should’ve ended up together. Olivia’s gonna realize that Viola and Sebastian are definitely very different people.” 

Beatrice considers this. “That’s true. It wouldn’t have been faithful to the source material, but I hear your point.” 

“They named the  _ tarantula _ Malvolio,” Ava points out. “Can you get any more not-faithful to the source material?” 

“Fair,” Beatrice murmurs, half-listening as Ava shifts the side she’s leaning on. Suddenly their shoulders are pressed together and Ava is  _ close,  _ close as the night they shared a bed post-nightmare, and Beatrice’s every inhale is filled with her. Ava’s hand comes to rest so that her fingertips just barely brush Beatrice’s knee. Every soft point of contact is another comfort, soothing the long-held tension knotted between Beatrice’s shoulder blades. She shifts into the touch and hears more than sees Ava’s tiny huff of a smile in reaction. 

“Was high school really like this?” Ava whispers, as Viola-as-Sebastian scrambles through an attempted hazing and an awkward chemistry class. “And I thought  _ my  _ life was bad.” 

Beatrice recalls emotional nights and whispers behind turned backs. Brief thoughts of escape, and then reluctant acceptance of her lot in life. Not exactly the kind of rom-com plot that sells tickets, but it has an angst to it that she cringes at now. “Not quite,” she responds. “Though there is a certain drama to everything that they manage to nail. When you’re younger, everything is about you and how you feel. Growing up is realizing that’s not true.” 

Ava’s fingers ghost over her leg with a hesitant reassurance. She grimaces at the screen. “Kinda glad I didn’t go, then. Growing up sucks.” 

Beatrice sighs. “I wish I had that choice. I wouldn’t have gone, either.” 

Ava leans her head on Beatrice’s shoulder tentatively. A flush of warmth swells between her ribs at the trust the motion entails. “I’m glad you’re here now,” she says, so quiet Beatrice almost misses it under the sound of the movie. 

These words have the texture of truth in her mouth. “Me, too.” Slumber slinks along inevitably, hand-in-hand with the comfort of Ava’s body pressed against hers. It brings with it long yawns and drooping eyelids, and Beatrice finds herself softening into the press of limbs between them. She fights to stay awake.

Ava lifts her head and Beatrice feels the pressure of her gaze intimately. “Hey, sleepyhead.” She moves away and Beatrice aches. “You’re falling asleep.” 

“Where are you going?” Beatrice mumbles. She’s tired, but not tired enough to let phrases like  _ Please come back  _ or  _ Because I feel safe with you  _ out of her head. 

“Not going anywhere, don’t worry.” Ava readjusts so she’s leaning into the corner of the armrest and the back of the couch, and holds her arms out. Beatrice stares too long, the offer not computing. “Probably more comfortable this way.” Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Ava pauses. “But you don’t have to —” 

“Nonsense,” Beatrice mutters. Impulse drives her to lean and lean further, falling into Ava’s arms. Distantly, she makes several lovely discoveries: her head fits perfectly in the space beneath Ava’s chin, the steady  _ thud-thump  _ of Ava’s heartbeat is the most soothing lullaby, and in the warm circle of Ava’s embrace, she has no defense against the pull of slumber. The press of their bodies together is the most natural thing. Even the familiar panic of intimacy can't reach her here, with Ava's arms protecting her. Her heart beats calm. 

“I’ve got you,” Ava promises, stroking Beatrice’s arm. “Sleep.” 

And so she does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the most difficult chapter to write by far -- I have at least five different drafts of the beginning because there were just too many ways I could take it and I couldn't find a satisfactory one. After all that, though, I'm pretty happy with the development that happened; it only took 30+ pages of handwritten drafting to get there XD 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I _live_ on comments. Feel free to hmu on tumblr @feveredreams if you wanna chat more about our lesbian and bi disaster nuns.


	5. desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but it was all a dream...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that _certainty_ you feel during a dream of what's going on? yeah. that vibe.

_it never starts on a bed,_ because her subconscious deems that too easy. No, this time around she finds herself flat on her back on the sparring mat. That’s how she knows it’s a dream, because she’d never let herself remain vulnerable for so long in a sparring match. 

that, and Ava’s straddling her. 

they’re both panting, out of breath. Ava's hair is falling into her face, wispy strands coming undone from her ponytail. She leans over Beatrice with a roguish grin and delighted glint in dark eyes. There is something different about her smile. Beatrice thinks that she will allow herself to explore it. She inhales long and exhales slow, and lets her gaze brush down the curve of Ava's nose and trace a light touch along the full line of her lips. “I win,” Ava declares. Beatrice begs to differ. 

“Perhaps we are both the victors,” she murmurs. That familiar, insidious pulse of heat grows in her core, but this time she feels the panic slide off the dream like rain off waterfowl. She rolls her hips up. A gasp slips from Ava's mouth, and Beatrice feels the grin curl at the corners of her mouth. She feels bolder, assured in her goals and intent on the reactions she desires. “You were saying?” She twists one of her arms out of Ava’s grasp where it had been pinned to the ground. Ava doesn’t fight it, just watches with low-lidded eyes as Beatrice reaches up to brush the hair out of her eyes. She turns her head to nuzzle into Beatrice’s palm. The soft kiss she presses there catches Beatrice’s breath in her lungs. 

“I win,” Ava repeats, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. Even the diamond glint in the starry sky above them isn’t enough to draw Beatrice’s gaze from the beguiling suggestion in Ava’s eyes. “I have a beautiful woman beneath me. I think that’s a pretty big victory.” 

“And I have a beautiful woman above me,” Beatrice rebuts. “Who’s to say who the real winner is here?” Ava’s grip on her other wrist is slack now. She pulls her other arm free and settles her hands on Ava’s hips. Ava raises an eyebrow, leaning down further so that their noses are almost touching. Beatrice lets one of her hands begin to wander, sneaking beneath the hem of Ava’s shirt. She marvels at the soft skin beneath her fingertips and smiles at the pause in Ava’s motion.

“You’re distracting me,” she accuses. “Is there no honor among equals in combat?” She murmurs this as she presses even closer, nosing at Beatrice’s cheek, ghosting a kiss at the corner of her mouth. One hand comes up to tangle in Beatrice’s loose locks. “Should I win by default, since you’re resorting to such  _ dirty  _ tactics?” she mutters the question into Beatrice’s neck, tugging her head back gently to gain access to all the soft skin there. 

The low growl of Ava’s voice is heady in Beatrice’s ear. She feels feverish. “Talk about dirty tactics,” Beatrice huffs, breathless. She hooks her foot around Ava’s ankle and flips them in a single swift motion, knocking a gasp out of Ava’s lungs as her back hits the mat. “I’m just going easy on you.” She pins Ava’s wrists above her head with one hand and smooths her own grin into a raised-eyebrow challenge. “Now who’s winning?” 

Ava stares up at her. The unabashed  _ want  _ in her eyes is something that is utterly unknown to Beatrice outside of the firm certainty of a dreamscape built for her own desires. She  _ knows  _ that Ava wants her. This, along with the simmering arousal warming her body and her own newfound boldness, is one of the few solid pillars that hold up the lazy plot of this dream. “I think I still am,” Ava murmurs, eyes dropping to Beatrice’s mouth. There’s an attempt at pulling from Beatrice’s grip, but it’s half-hearted. Her eyes seem to dare Beatrice to act.  _ Go on. You have me at your mercy, now what?  _

“I forget what contest we’re having.” Beatrice draws her thumb along Ava’s jaw and leans in, lets that easy gravity pull her within centimeters of a real, full kiss, and whispers, “A test of wills, was it?” Ava can’t help her soft shuddery sigh at the slightest brush of lips, and leans up to chase Beatrice’s mouth. Beatrice pulls away, just out of reach. The needy little whine that follows sears her to the core. 

“You’re not playing fair,” Ava breathes. Beatrice is lost in the sweet flush on her cheeks and the slightest hint of her tongue darting between full lips. “Bea —” Ava swallows thickly. Beatrice feels vibrant, entire body thrumming to the same pitch as Ava’s so that they blend and meld at the edges, unclear where ends and beginnings lie. “Kiss me.” 

Beatrice lets one of her eyebrows arch upwards. She can sense a riptide of confidence running through the structure of her dream self and it thrills her, the certainty of this imagined moment and the possibility of words untouched by hesitance and fear. “Ask nicely,” she says, running the pad of her thumb along Ava’s bottom lip. Instinctively, Ava opens her mouth and Beatrice feels her thought process stutter to a halt at the warm velvet of her tongue against her thumb.

Ava smirks up at her, delighted. Her voice dips low and husky.  _ “Please  _ kiss me, Bea,” she asks, faux innocence plastered over her smirk. “I concede. To the winner go the spoils.” 

“And you are spoiled, aren’t you?” Beatrice says, amused and infinitely fond. Her resistance against Ava’s pout only lasts so long; she’s only mortal. She leans down to press their lips together, and the sensation is simultaneously muffled and explicit in a way only fantasies can be. Ava smells of cinnamon and comfort. She softens into the kiss and Beatrice can feel the curve of her smile. 

Hands cup Beatrice’s face and she realizes Ava’s phased through her grip. “Should we take this elsewhere?” Ava asks in the brief space between kisses. “Before we give them a show.” 

Beatrice looks over to find that various other members of the Order are mulling about, seemingly waiting for them to finish up their sparring match. For the first time she sees that they’re on a beach, lit brightly with silver moonlight. The audience unconcerns her. “Let’s,” she agrees. She helps Ava to her feet. They cling to each other in a tangle, arms looped and feet bumping into each other like the other might disappear if they stop touching for even one second. She follows the small footpath up to the top of the dunes, passing several other groups sitting on sparring mats like picnic blankets. 

“Get it, girl!” someone calls, and Ava throws a grin and a thumbs up at Mary and Lilith, lying on one of the mats. There’s a bottle of wine between them and Beatrice blinks at the casual dress that they’re in. They look relaxed in the moonlight. Familiar.

“Ava,” Lilith calls, sipping her wine, “don’t forget that Beatrice doesn’t heal hickies like you do.” Beatrice notes with a spark of interest that their hands are clasped together between them. 

“That’s what the habit is for,” Ava shoots back, grinning. She tugs Beatrice forward. “C’mon, let’s go!” Beatrice waves to the two and lets Ava guide them up the hill. A four-poster bed sits at the top, crowned in midnight blue sky and miraculously free of sand. “I’m gonna devour you,” she mutters in Beatrice’s ear, and giggles at the fierce blush that results. 

“Is that so?” Ava presses her up against the side of the bed and places her hands on either side of Beatrice’s waist, stepping into the space between her legs. The soft press of their bodies is both exciting and familiar, and Beatrice shivers when Ava slides her hand beneath her shirt and against warm skin. “Do tell.” She longs to hear more of the sultry slouch of Ava’s voice when she’s turned on.

“Mmm.” Ava tilts her head up to ponder Beatrice’s expression. She kisses Beatrice long and deep, until she feels empty of everything except for Ava, Ava,  _ Ava.  _ Her taste, her smell, the soft swell of her mouth and the small sounds she makes. Her every sense presses outwards and finds itself against Ava, surrounded by her, and Beatrice drags in a breath to realize she’s crying. “Hey.” Ava swipes away a tear from her cheek and moves away, gives her space. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Beatrice manages, “just happy.” She hops up onto the bed fully, and tugs Ava with her. “Very happy.”

Ava tumbles into her arms and into another kiss that breaks down into laughter and smiles. “Good.” She begins to pepper kisses along Beatrice’s jaw and down her neck, each successive one growing sloppier. “What do you want?” 

“Whatever you’ll give me.” Beatrice reaches around to tug Ava’s hair out of her ponytail and run her fingers through the waves. Ava sighs and leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Unless I distract you first…” Ava blinks back to full awareness and points a finger at Beatrice. 

“Don’t distract me! I’m on a mission here.” 

“Oh? And what might that mission be?”

Ava’s smile is devious and hungry. She leans in to murmur in Beatrice’s ear, “Either pray or blaspheme. I haven’t decided.” Beatrice laughs breathlessly, and lets Ava lay her down on the bed and worship her.

* * *

Ava stares at the sky and lets herself soak in the sensation of time passing. Clouds proliferate and shrink, expanding and disappearing with heaving sighs like giant cotton lungs traveling across the sky. She can smell cooking smoke from a distance, and gentle strains of music drift to her ears. The fading warmth of the sunset tickles her skin.

“Ava, darling,” someone calls from behind (and below?) her, and she knows without question who it is. “Come down, we’re going to be late for dinner.” 

“Coming!” She looks down and lowers herself from the air into the wheelchair waiting below. It’s a ritual, to let herself access some of that old power and spend hours just floating in the sky, watching the atmosphere pass her by. She must have lost track of time. “Where are we going?” she asks, nudging the glass door to their bedroom open. Yes, the increased price was definitely worth the direct route to their tiny but verdant backyard. 

Beatrice is half-dressed, midnight blue dress pulled up and hanging from her shoulders as she bustles around the room. “It’s a surprise,” she says, and turns. “Zip me up?” Ava presses a kiss to her bare back before pulling the zipper up. Glittering silver beads sketch out constellations across the silken fabric and she’s taken by the desire to map those shapes across Beatrice’s body with her kisses. “I think you’ll like it.” 

“Very well, keep your secrets.” Ava rifles through the drawers and peers at her choices. “Any particular situation I should dress for?” 

“You might get cold, so bring a jacket.” 

Ava settles on the white flowy shirt she calls her “swashbuckler shirt” and a pair of comfy dress pants and fixes her hair in the mirror. She plucks at the drape of the linen shirt, pleased at the weight of the cloth. Beatrice lounges on the bed for a moment, watching Ava in the mirror with dark eyes, and Ava waggles her eyebrows at her. “Trying to start something?” 

“No,” Beatrice lies, scooting over so she can lay her hands on Ava’s shoulders and kiss her temple. “You just look very good.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Ava says, and earns a fond chuckle for it. There is a significance to this moment, she knows, but also a soothing regularity in the actions. “All right, lead the way.” 

Beatrice goes around the apartment turning off lights, and Ava grabs the keys and her warmest jacket. Apartment locked, they go down in the elevator and out into the cooling evening air. The conversation flows by without texture, words indistinguishable, but Ava understands it all. They talk about their days, about their work. Ava makes Beatrice laugh, and the soft peals of her laughter fill Ava’s rib cage with golden warmth. At times a companionable silence rests over them. Beatrice guides them down vintage cobblestone streets and fairy-lit alleyways until a low rushing sound becomes evident in the distance. She can smell the faint tang of salt in the air.

“Ooh, romantic walk on the beach?” Ava asks. 

Beatrice gives nothing away other than an enigmatic smile. “Maybe.” The meaning of the moment suddenly clarifies in her mind, and Ava twists in the wheelchair to look Beatrice in the eye. 

“Wait, did you get me something? We said we weren’t getting each other presents, right?” 

“No presents,” Beatrice affirms. “Don’t worry.” 

They amble along, drifting from conversation to silence and back again, until Beatrice stops them in front of a building cut into rough rock. It appears to be a restaurant from first glance, but nameless and empty. “We’re here.” 

“Where’s here, exactly?” 

Beatrice’s smile is pleased but reveals nothing. “You’ll see.” 

They move through the empty first floor and into the elevator at the back of the room. Ava notes the fancy tablecloths and delicate glassware, the soft mood lighting and the rustic vibe. “Did you buy out the place? Cuz that wasn’t necessary —” 

The elevator doors open and the immediate salt breeze sweeps Ava’s words away. Ahead of them, a long sweeping balcony girds the crashing wine-dark sea, tiled floor lit in warm light and the indigo sky open above them. A waiter bows deep at their entrance. “Right this way, signore.” Ava gapes at the wind-brushed clouds above them and inhales deep the fresh ocean air. 

“Do you like it?” Beatrice asks, once they’re settled at their own table by the railing. They can peer over the wrought iron and see straight down into the pounding white surf. Flecks of foam dance upwards towards the balcony, a fine mist hanging in the air.

“This is amazing,” Ava says, marveling at the rough craggy grotto the restaurant is carved out of. “I love it.” Beatrice smiles, pleased, and Ava is almost overwhelmed by the burgeoning feeling of adoration in her chest. 

“I know you wanted to see the Blue Grotto, but I thought this would be a good compromise for dinner.” She reaches across the table and Ava grasps her hand. “Happy fifth anniversary, Ava.” 

“Happy anniversary, Bea.” Ava blinks moisture away from her eyes. “I could never have imagined this, five years ago. We were still recovering, and for a long time...I couldn’t see any way forward. But you never left my side.” Beatrice squeezes her hand, and Ava sighs, fond. “Thank you. For sticking with me.”

“Of course.” The seaside wind tugs at Beatrice’s hair, and in the candlelight, Ava is in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. “I promised you that. I don’t intend to ever break that promise.” 

“Even if I’m a disembodied head in a bag?”

“Even then.” She raises her wine glass, and Ava mirrors the action. “To us.” 

“To five more years. And many more after that.” The wine slides easy in Ava’s mouth and she’s struck by a thought. “Did you ever think I wouldn’t come back?” 

Beatrice considers the question. “At some of the lowest points, yes.” The flash of sorrow across her face is brief but deep. “But I understood what you had to do. After the Halo was gone, we were all a little lost. But you still didn’t know yourself, and that’s something you have to discover on your own. I understood. It still... _ hurt,  _ to know you were alone out there. I nearly went looking several times. But I trusted you.” She meets Ava’s eyes. “I still do. I knew you would come back.”

“To be honest…” Ava casts her gaze over the flat endless horizon of ocean, sky darkening rapidly. “There were some moments where I thought I could leave without regretting it. I thought I could leave that part of me behind and build something new. But it kept haunting me.” Her fingers raise unconsciously to touch at the nape of her neck, where the circular scar still sits. “You guys were my first family after I died. The more I tried to forget it, the more it came back. Like you were the bodies buried in the basement.” 

“Are you saying you murdered us?” Beatrice teases, and Ava chuckles.    
  


“Not  _ exactly,  _ but...I tried, a few times. It never worked. I couldn’t forget you. It hurt too much.” 

Beatrice follows Ava’s gaze out to the ocean, and they both consider the infinite other possibilities they’ve eschewed to be here now. 

“I’m proud of you,” Beatrice says. Ava’s not expecting it, and again that overwhelming adoration rises. “You faced the most difficult change after the Halo was gone. I was afraid that you...that I would lose you.” 

“But you didn’t.” Ava gives her a crooked grin. “I made it.” 

“You did. On your own, too.” Beatrice lets out a long breath, and when she looks up, there’s a slight sheen in her eyes. “I love you, Ava Silva. And I know you are strong, and capable, but I’ll always be by your side anyways.” She holds Ava’s hand tight, then chuckles softly. “I know it’s touching and cheesy, but there’s no need to float.” 

A soft chant begins to echo in Ava’s ears. She looks down and realizes that she’s starting to levitate. “Oh, sorry —” The crash of the sea suddenly booms like cymbals, and Beatrice is looking up at her, calling her name, the sound distant, and getting closer…

* * *

“That felt like prayer to me,” Beatrice murmurs, after long satisfied minutes pass. Ava is curled into her side, head pillowed on her shoulder and their legs entangled. She traces whimsical shapes on Beatrice’s bare stomach and grins against her neck. 

“Mmm. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” 

“Oh, I’m plenty satisfied with it.” Beatrice admires the slope of Ava’s forehead, the adorable shape of her ears. “What are you thinking about?” 

“You, most of the time.” 

Beatrice laughs. “Do I get more detail than that?” 

Ava squirms in her arms, warm and limp like a content cat. “Mm, what I’m thinking about would make the stars blush.” Beatrice herself flushes at the implication. 

“You’re still going, after all that?” 

“Of course." Ava grabs at Beatrice's chest and body, clinging tight. Beatrice laughs. "I can never get enough of you.” 

Beatrice knows she won’t be able to recall their conversation when she wakes, but she grasps at what she can. In placid moonlight they lay, watching constellations cartwheel overhead, and all she knows is that the space is filled with endearments and quiet laughter. Sensation blends until she’s really only aware of the warmth of Ava beside her, an amorphous presence glowing with affection. 

“I don’t want this to end,” Beatrice admits. 

Ava tilts her head up. “It doesn’t have to.” 

“I’m not...I don’t know how to be like this, truly. This is…”  _ An echo? A ghost? Someone who almost existed?  _

“Still you, isn’t it?” 

Beatrice considers this. “I suppose.” 

“Well, I can see if you’re possessed, so I know it’s you. Beneath all the shit that the world piled on you, it’s still  _ you.”  _

“Only here, though. I’m not like you, I can’t just... _ be,  _ without consequence.” 

Ava’s laugh is radiant but edged with sadness. “Oh, there are definitely consequences to being me. I dunno. I don’t have an answer to that, really.” They both look to the stars for answers, letting silence think. “Just...pretend you’re a quadriplegic stuck in a bed, and suddenly you get a day of freedom. Life’s to short to fuck around, y’know? Chase your dreams and all that.” She yawns and slings her arm across Beatrice dramatically. “Hold me, I’m cold?” 

“There are sheets,” Beatrice chuckles, but obliges. She strokes Ava’s hair and watches the stars grow closer, the moonlight increasing,  _ almost as if they’re —  _

—  _ floating.  _ She opens her eyes and the disconcerting vertigo doesn’t fade. Faint golden light draws her gaze down and she gasps. 

Spectral golden wings arc out gracefully behind Ava’s back, flexing with soft movements. They brush the floor and disturb the dust on top of the TV with each majestic and gilded flap. On impulse and awe, Bea reaches out to touch one. Her balance shifts and she grabs at Ava again to keep from falling, hooking her ankles around Ava’s for security. “Ava,” she whispers, then tries louder. “Ava, wake up!” 

The intimacy of her dream is still rattling in her bones. The fact that she’s currently laid out flat on Ava, holding onto her like a lifeline, isn’t helping her mark the difference between dream and reality. The false memories are already fading, but her grief over their loss is palpable. Beatrice exhales sharply and forces herself to set the sorrow aside. They’re drifting closer to the ceiling; she gives Ava a little shake.  _ “Ava!” _

Ava blinks at her. Slow realization dawns on her face. She smiles. “Bea.” Her tone is relieved, fond, and it pulls at the fresh wound of Beatrice’s dream. Then Ava looks down. “Oh,  _ fuck.”  _ The Halo flares brighter and the wings agitate, flapping harder. Beatrice ducks down as they shoot towards the ceiling in jerky starts. 

“Ava.” She instills command into her voice. Years of battle training steel her nerves even as she presses herself even closer to the woman of her dreams. “Look at me, Ava. It’s okay, just breathe.” 

“I — uh, I can’t —” She’s starting to panic. Beatrice can feel the Halo warming. Her legs dip, threatening to make them go vertical. 

“Ava—” She grabs at Ava’s shirt, lunging up to keep from sliding off and to the floor ten feet below. For a moment, they’re a bare inch from each other, frozen. Ava’s eyes flick downwards, to Beatrice’s mouth, then back to her gaze. Her eyes widen. Then they drop like a rock.

The couch meets them, thankfully soft, but there’s still a collision of limbs. Beatrice smacks her head on something hard, and Ava groans beneath her. 

_ “Ow.  _ Your head is  _ hard,  _ dude.” 

“Could say that of you,” Beatrice mutters. She extricates herself from the tangle of limbs and sits up, rubbing her forehead. “Are you all right?”

Ava struggles into a sitting position, grimacing. “Other than getting headbutted in the chin? Superb.” 

“If you’d calmed down, headbutting wouldn’t have been necessary.” 

“Okay, next time you try calming down when  _ you  _ wake up ten feet in the air!” 

They stare at each other. Beatrice breaks first, surprising even herself. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “That was just…”

  
“Crazy,” Ava agrees. Her smile is growing, and Beatrice can’t help but mirror it as the absurd reality of the situation comes crashing down. Ava twists to look back at the Halo, now inert. Her grin is awed. “Holy shit.” Beatrice doesn’t even bother reprimanding her as she speaks the words on both their minds. “I can  _ fly.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter i am on the fence about. lemme know your thoughts, what you thought of that sneak peek at the steamy stuff, your favorite part, I wanna hear it! been a while since I stretched the smut muscles so we're easing into it. 
> 
> catch me on tumblr @feveredreams.


	6. in sickness

Fragments of dream jab at her like pieces of corn chips stuck in her teeth. Hours go by with painful normalcy. Then the memory of Beatrice pressing a kiss to her temple resurfaces, or Ava remembers the sultry way Beatrice had looked at her in the mirror, and she phases through the table or gets whacked in the jaw and she has to remind herself that it’s not _real._ None of that dream was real, and she’s been really distracted recently, is she okay? 

“Seriously,” Camila says. “That’s the fifth time I’ve hit you today. What’s on your mind?” She reaches out and helps Ava up from the mat. Her voice goes teasing. “I don’t usually land that many hits until Beatrice walks in.” 

Ava groans and scrubs at her face, wincing at the healing bruise. Camila frowns. 

“Okay, I thought you two were good? Did something happen?” She pauses. _“Did you kiss without telling anyone?”_

“Oh, God, no,” Ava mutters, feeling her face flush at the thought of kissing Beatrice. “Not really.” 

“Not _really?_ How do you _not really_ kiss somebody? Do you trip and fall?” 

“I had a dream!” Ava says, swinging her arms around to get rid of the jittery tension of memory and reality. “It felt super real. But obviously it’s not, and I can’t get it out of my head.”

Camila tilts her head, tapping the end of her staff on the floor. “And you dreamt about…”

Ava squints at the empty room around them. “Us,” she mutters. “Being together. Just, romantic stuff. You know.” She toes at a divot on the mat. 

“I do not know,” Camila says, “but I get the idea. You know dreaming about somebody means they’re dreaming about you, too?” 

Ava’s head shoots up. “What?” 

“Well, it’s a theory I have,” Camila admits. “But it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?” She gives Ava a meaningful look. “Maybe Bea was dreaming about you, too.”

“Maybe.” Ava’s not convinced. “I just keep randomly remembering things from the dream and it’s throwing me off.” 

“Have you talked to her yet? About”— Camila leans in to whisper conspiratorially —“your _feelings?_ I think that would help. Although you’d probably still be just as distracted, just less... _sad_ about it.” 

“I’m not sad,” Ava says, “I’m just trying to not fuck it up!” She recalls the music in the garden, Beatrice’s smile, and the caress of her hand. _Okay, maybe I am a little bit sad._ “I don’t know if — how strongly she feels. I’m trying to be gentle.” And she’s been succeeding, as far as she can tell. Beatrice is back to her regular spot by Ava for meals. They’re okay again. As long as she doesn’t do anything, they can stay normal. And Ava would trade anything for normal. 

“Okay, but you can’t be _too_ gentle, remember?” Ava looks at her skeptically. “And that’s not just because of the bet,” Camila adds. “Listen, Beatrice will never make the first move. It’s up to you.” 

_Why was this so much easier with JC?_ Ava expels a heavy breath. _Oh, that’s right, because that was a fling, and this is...something more. Way more than a fling._ “What even is a first move? Should I just go up and kiss her? That didn’t work very well last time.” 

“You confess your feelings, very honestly, and tell her what you want. Here, we can practice while we spar.” Camila moves back to the starting position on the mat. “Come on.” 

“I don’t see how this is gonna help,” Ava mutters, but matches her stance grudgingly. “Now what?” 

  
“Pretend I’m Beatrice.” Camila smooths her facial expression into one of calm that is unnervingly similar to Beatrice’s combat face, and adopts her accent. “Focus, Ava.” 

Ava stares at her. “Okay, that’s a little creepy.” 

“Do you have something to tell me?” Camila asks, and swings her staff at Ava. 

“Oh shit—” Ava dodges out of the way and parries messily, rolling to the mat to avoid another downward swipe. “I don’t see how this is helpful!” She swings her staff at Camila’s legs, mind racing. 

“If you can talk about your feelings while getting beat up, you can do it anywhere,” Camila calls, back to her normal voice. She blocks Ava’s strike and presses forward. The accent returns. “So, _Ava,_ is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” 

“Shit!” Ava ducks and weaves, staff moving slow. She’s mediocre at best in combat training. Adding emotions to the mix is not helping. “I, uh — have feelings for you,” she tries, lunging for a jab. She feels her feet disobey her command, swept out from under her, and in a second her back hits the mat. Camila points the staff down at her. 

“Again.” 

“This feels vindictive,” Ava groans, but gets back up to her feet. “I can barely hold my own when I’m not talking about my _feelings.”_ She makes a face, then yelps as Camila swings the staff towards her face. Parry, swipe. The sharp smack of wood against wood echoes in the large room. 

  
“Ava, you’ve been acting weird recently,” Camila says, back in her uncanny accent. “Is something wrong?” 

Ava grimaces, and goes for the first words she can think of. “I really like you. In a romantic way.” She spots an opening and presses it, forcing Camila back a few steps. “Uh. I wanna kiss you? And make you smile?” 

“Why are those questions?” Camila inquires, spinning the staff in quick succession to block two of Ava’s strikes and taking the offensive again. “You sound unsure.” 

“This is _weird,”_ Ava gripes, “talking about it with you. I dunno. It doesn’t feel very romantic.” 

Camila stops in the middle of a strike to frown at her. “What? No! Ava, good communication is the _most_ romantic thing. It shows you care about them and their feelings.” She moves back and brandishes the staff. “Trust me. Try again.” 

They prowl in a slow circle, waiting for an opening. This time Ava strikes first. “I have romantic feelings for you,” she says. “And I want to make you happy. But, uh, if you feel like” —she blocks a blow and swings the staff around in an overhead strike that gets Camila to stumble back —“you’re not ready for that kind of commitment, I understand.” She manages to score a tap on Camila’s leg and grins, skipping back on her feet. “How was that?” 

“Pretty good.” Camila gives her a thumbs up. “So, are you going to talk to her soon?” She tosses the staff to the side and begins to lead Ava through some basic cool-down stretches. “Aren’t you two going to work on the flying thing later? You could tell her then.” 

Ava makes a face. “I don’t know. What about your guys’ vows? How does that figure in?” She winces as the stretch pulls at a particularly sore muscle. “Aren’t you technically married to Jesus? Would I be Beatrice’s...mistress, or something?” She chuckles at the thought. _Beatrice probably won’t find that amusing, though._

“Well...the wording on the vows is kinda antiquated,” Camila admits, laying her hands flat on the ground. “If you’re dedicated, you can find the loopholes. And—” she makes a face “—since we got kicked out of the Order, I don’t actually know if we count as nuns anymore. We’re rogue nuns.” She grins at the thought, and shrugs. “It’s kind of a free-for-all now, I think.” 

“Huh.” Ava cracks her knuckles. “Do you really think I should tell her today?” She glances up as the sun slips beneath the eaves and casts long orange afternoon beams into the room. “I mean, I could just never tell her, and that would probably be fine.”

Camila lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You can’t hide from your emotions, Ava. It’s not healthy. And how many times do we have to tell you? _She likes you, too.”_

Ava purses her lips. “Okay, but...have you considered I might fuck it up? Last time I knew somebody like me too, Lilith punched him and then he ran away. From the Tarask, granted, but…” 

Camila stifles a laugh. “Lilith punched him? Good for her.” 

“Hey! I liked him! We almost had a good thing going.” _Except he probably would’ve freaked out at the whole Halo situation, too..._

Camila holds up a finger. “Okay, but consider _this:_ Beatrice would probably kick a Tarask’s ass for you.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ava mutters to herself. “I feel like she deserves more than I can give her. She’s a badass nun who can speak fifteen languages and beat me in a fight blindfolded. I’m just... _Ava,_ who accidentally got the Halo and still trips over her own feet just walking down the hall.” 

Camila turns to face her. “Okay. But you can learn languages and you can train to be a better fighter. Your feelings for her? That’s not something you can learn or practice into existence. That’s worth more than any number of skills.” 

Ava chews on this idea hesitantly. “I guess.” 

Footsteps on stone alert them to Beatrice’s impending presence, and Camila grabs Ava’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Good luck. Just like you practiced, remember?” Ava swallows and nods, not trusting her tongue. Camila hops to her feet and gives a wave. “Hey, Bea.”

Ava looks over. Beatrice is balancing a stack of books in her arms precariously. “Hello. Ava, are you ready?” Ava tries for an excited smile, but simultaneous dread and excitement twist it weirdly. 

“Yup! Ready as I’ll ever be!” _That’s a lie._ Camila gives her a thumbs up from outside the door. Ava grins weakly in response. _Ah, fuck._ “So, what’s with all the books? I thought our next attempt was going to be throwing me off the roof and hoping it works.” After waking up flying, they’d attempted to recreate the phenomenon with limited success. Previous tries have led to her getting a splitting headache for a day, setting her shirt on fire, and phasing into the ground by accident. That last one had been a _pain_ to get out of. 

“We’re _not_ throwing you off the roof,” Beatrice says, setting the stack down on the mat with a thump. “Since Mary pushing you off a cliff didn’t spur the wings, I doubt falling from the top of Cat’s Cradle is going to help much, either. And I don’t fancy the idea of you hitting the ground.” 

“I can heal,” Ava says, even though she cringes at the thought of it. “I mean, I didn’t know I could fly back then. Maybe, because I know now —”

“No jumping off the roof,” Beatrice orders, pointing a stern finger at Ava. “Now. These are books I dug up from the archives…”

Ava’s ears stop taking input. She’s caught on Beatrice’s tone, the one that brooks no argument; instead of corralling her into line, Ava feels an unexpected warmth pulse in her core. She’s taken, without resistance, by a flash of memory: Beatrice leaning above her. Pinning her down, grinning, voice low and commanding, aware and _enjoying_ her effect on Ava. Ava blinks and realizes, heat rising to her cheeks, that she’s been staring, unconsciously pressing her thighs together, and now Beatrice is staring back. 

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Beatrice asks. The fond exasperation on her face is tinged with curiosity. Ava ducks for the cover of a lie.

“I was listening! You were talking about the books, and uh, how they’re important. They tell us stuff.”

Beatrice raises an eyebrow, amused. “And what ‘stuff’ might they tell us, Ava?” 

Ava squints at one of the titles. “The, uh...importance of. theological symbolism in Viennese frescoes?” She shoots Beatrice a crooked grin, trying to stuff the inconvenient arousal away for another time. _Why the_ **_fuck_ ** _did that turn me on. Beatrice’s just trying to get me under control —_ Ava feels her cheeks warm even more. _Nevermind, nevermind, forget it, think about frescoes, frescoes. What the hell are frescoes?_

“I was saying that these are all the sources I could find that mentioned a Halo Bearer or similar person with the power to manifest wings,” Beatrice repeats. “There are brief mentions in the journal of levitation, but it’s frustratingly vague. I can’t determine whether it was so common that nobody bothered to describe it, or if it’s something completely new. Either possibility seems likely, so… congratulations. You’ve officially stumped me.” 

Ava offers up a crooked smile. “Sorry?” 

“Don’t be,” Beatrice says. She seems oddly energized despite the obstacles she’s just described. “I had an idea while reading through one of these.” She gets to her feet and motions for Ava to do the same. “Remember when Sister Crimson was about to shoot me?” 

“Yeah.” Ava scowls at the memory. “That traitorous —”

_“But_ you saved me,” Beatrice interrupts before Ava can begin a tirade. “With a expulsion of power. Like what we read about in the journal with Sister Melanie.” 

Oh, Ava had been hoping Beatrice wouldn’t make that incriminating connection, but she supposes that would’ve been too much to ask. Apparently ‘something elemental in her soul’ is protecting the pretty nun who smiles at her warmly and makes her laugh and has the most delicate features... _focus, Ava, damn!_ She sneaks another indulgent glance at the cupid’s bow of Beatrice’s lips, then focuses. Or tries to.

“I was thinking — what if we recreated the circumstances that led to your wings? The Halo is linked to your emotions. Something must have unlocked that ability.” Beatrice steps back, and holds out her arms. “So, come here.” 

Ava stares at her. No spark of understanding blesses her. “And do…what?” 

“Come hug me,” Beatrice says, and is that a faint hint of blush across her cheeks? “We were cuddling when you got your wings.” Ava tries and fails to stifle a giggle at Beatrice’s solemn offer of a hug. “I’m serious, Ava. It’s the scientific method. Recreate the situation that led to the result, and we can recreate the result.” 

“Fuck, I love science,” Ava mutters under her breath and steps forward to embrace Beatrice. The expected nature of it makes them awkward and at first Ava doesn’t know which side to put her head on until Beatrice cuts the distance and pulls her into a full hug. For the first time, Ava has to think about where to put her hands. She settles on splaying her palms against Beatrice’s back. The shift of muscles there is just as distracting as the soft puff of Beatrice’s breath by her ear. Ava tries to steady her breathing. “Okay, now what?” Ava can feel Beatrice’s hands gently draping across her shoulders. Each calming breath is filled with the faint lavender of her shampoo. 

“Try concentrating on levitating again,” Beatrice instructs. “It could be that you need more power. Focus on connecting to my energy.” 

“Connecting to your... _energy_ . Right,” Ava mumbles. She nestles in closer. Beatrice’s pulse is jumping and Ava can feel it tick faster. Probably just anticipation. “All right, wings...c’mon.” She closes her eyes and focuses. Ever since the Halo’s been implanted in her back, Ava’s awareness of its power has grown from a vague sense of vigor to a conscious knowledge of exactly how much power is left and how to tap into it. She exhales slowly and reaches into that golden heat now. _Think about floating, about flying, about how good Beatrice smells — no. Flying. Wings. It’s so nice to just hold her...ugh. Wings, levitation. I’m as light as air, lighter than air. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is going._

Ava can sense the Halo glowing, waiting. Waiting for what, she has no idea. Perhaps it does need more energy. She turns her already wandering attention to the press of Beatrice’s body. Heat is energy. Ava tries to envision pulling the spread of warmth towards her, siphoning it into the Halo as a thin spiral of golden energy and expanding out to fill the outline of feathers. 

At first, nothing happens. A warning tickle of a headache pricks at Ava’s temple. Then a surge of power unlike anything she’s felt fills the Halo, and Ava knows without looking that brilliant golden wings have just sprouted from her back. Beatrice gasps and shudders, and sags into Ava’s arms. 

_“Bea?_ Bea, are you all right, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Ava lets the current of energy drop. The Halo supports her as she supports Beatrice in a slow, undignified crumple to the ground. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” she chants, hands cupping Beatrice’s face, her arm, her shoulder, searching for reassurance.

“I’m okay,” Beatrice manages, gripping tight at Ava’s arm, her shoulder. Her face is unnaturally pale, a slight sheen of sweat across her brow. “It was just unexpected.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Ava says again, guilt striking sharp blows between her ribs. “I’m not doing that again. I took too much from you, I hurt you. Fuck!” _Of course you had to go and fuck that up. Talk about not being a burden. You just stole her energy like some freaky angelic vampire!_ She puts her arm around Beatrice’s shoulders to support her, scanning frantically for any outward sign of injury.

“Language,” Beatrice whispers. Ava chokes out a laugh. “I’m okay, Ava. Just...give me a second.” She never once lets go of Ava, leaning into her chest as she regains her breath. Ava holds her and simmers in sickening guilt. “That was more than I expected,” Beatrice finally mumbles. The sickly pallor has faded somewhat but she still sounds shaken. She looks up, meets Ava’s gaze meaningfully, voice rough. “But it worked.”

Ava shakes her head. “No. I’m _not_ doing that again.” 

“It _worked,_ though.” Beatrice sits up a little. The spark of curiosity and determination is starting to relight in her eyes. One of her hands slips down to grasp at Ava’s forearm. “We know you need more energy now. That’s something we can work with.” 

“No.” Ava shakes her head. “I’m not doing that again, with you _or_ anyone else. That’s — no. I’m drawing the line there.” She can hear the edge of her voice getting sharper, but can’t seem to control it. “I’m _not_ going to use your energy to power the Halo. Or anyone else’s. If that means I can’t fly, then fine, fuck flying, I don’t need to fly. I’m not — no.” She shakes her head again, vehement. The shock is wearing off and slow-winding fear is gaining, creeping around her bones. “I can’t — I can’t lose you.” 

Beatrice stares up at her. The crinkle in her brow smooths out. “Okay,” she says, after a pause. “We won’t do that again.” Her hand finds Ava’s and she interlocks their fingers. Ava notices that she’s trembling, just the slightest bit. “Tell me how it felt.” The fact that Beatrice is still holding onto tightly, using her to stay upright, is not lost on Ava. 

“It felt...strong,” Ava admits. “But overwhelming, like you said. Like there was too much for me to control. Exhilarating, but also scary.” She shakes her head. “There has to be another way.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Beatrice inclines her head and manages a small grin. “And like you said. Flying’s the least of our concerns. It may come in handy, but it is...less useful than phasing.” She pauses to take a few deep breaths. “And we did learn that the Halo has another power.” She chuckles weakly. “You can take people’s...energy.”

Ava shudders at the thought, the memory of pulling that thread of pulsing energy from Beatrice’s body. “I hate it,” she says. “It feels _wrong._ Like, opposite of sacred. Super evil.” 

Beatrice chuckles, but says nothing. Ava watches her face suddenly become drawn with exhaustion, a shuddering sigh escaping her mouth. “We’ll work on it,” she says, finally, voice small. “Ava, do you mind —” She pauses, eyes fluttering shut. “I think I need to lie down.” 

“Yeah, yup. I gotcha.” She doesn’t think, just takes from the power still brimming in the Halo and sweeps Beatrice up into a bridal carry. “Stay with me, okay?” 

Beatrice nods drowsily, head lolling to rest against Ava’s chest. “M’kay.” 

Brilliant emotions vie for attention; the fluttering thrill of carrying Beatrice and being trusted to do so briefly breaks the hot rush of guilty panic at having caused whatever this weakness is. Beatrice is small and fragile in her arms. These are terrifying, unfamiliar qualities to assign to her. Ava has to force herself to breathe past the vise around her lungs. “Bea? Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” 

“Tired,” Beatrice mumbles. “Ava, you’re very strong.” She says this like it’s a critical scientific observation, and Ava can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles out of her chest. “When did you get so strong?” 

“I’ve been secretly working out at night,” Ava jokes instinctively, making her way down the hallway to Beatrice’s room. “Can you tell?” Lilith emerges into the hallway ahead of them and does a double-take. Ava’s heart drops as she rushes over. 

“What happened?” Lilith’s voice is razor sharp, a fiery flicker around her pupils as she glances up at Ava. “Is she hurt?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t know, we were —” Ava swallows, chest tight. “We were testing a theory. She thought I needed more power to get the wings and told me to take some from her, and I think I took too much, she just collapsed. I don’t know—I—” The words are growing in her mouth, choking her. Her vision is blurring. There’s a firm pressure on her shoulder, and she looks up to see Lilith’s hand, black nails retracting. 

“Ava.” Lilith’s tone is firm, but surprisingly free of the scathing blame that she’d been expecting. “Get her to her room. I’ll get the others.” 

Ava nods wordlessly, blinks the threatening tears away, and does as she says. Beatrice makes soft noises of protest when Ava lowers her to the bed, clutching at Ava’s shirt. “No,” she mutters, trying to burrow closer. “Don’t go.” 

Ava’s chest tightens. “I’m not going anywhere, Bea. Lie down for me, okay? I’ll be right here.” She gently pries Beatrice’s grip from her shirt. “I’m right here.” Ava pulls up a chair. As soon as she’s fully on the mattress, Beatrice curls up and reaches out blindly. Ava offers her hand and Beatrice grips it tightly. “Bea?” Ava doesn’t know what’ll happen if Beatrice falls asleep, but dread pulls at her chest at the thought of worst case scenarios. “Can you talk to me?” 

Beatrice mumbles something into the pillow, and all Ava catches is “...to me.” The door opens and in a moment the room is crowded. Lilith leads the charge with Mary following and Camila last, carrying a crossbow.

“What happened?” Mary’s on the other side of the bed, palm to Beatrice’s forehead. “She’s cold.” 

“It’s my fault,” Ava says, ignoring the way the confession cuts her to the core. “I didn’t think about what could happen, I just— took energy from her, and she collapsed, I don’t — is she going to be okay?” Camila’s lowered the crossbow, and her hand on Ava’s shoulder is firm. 

“You took _energy_ from her? How?” 

“I don’t know, I just — _took_ it. She thought I needed more power for the wings, and she offered to help, I didn’t think it would do _this.”_ She gestures at Beatrice, pale and quiet on the bed. 

Lilith is hovering at the foot of the bed, staring at Beatrice like her gaze alone might heal her. “Mary, have you seen this before?” 

Mary’s nod is slow, contemplative. “Yeah. A while ago. During a mission, somebody ambushed us and got the drop on Shannon. He had a gun to her head, she was pretty drained, and I couldn’t get there fast enough.” She shakes her head. “She still dropped him. She didn’t want to talk about how she did it, just said that it was a last-resort tactic. I could tell it didn’t sit right with her, and I get that. The guy was practically catatonic afterwards.” 

Ava stares at her. _“What?”_

“Shannon was trying to keep him from killing her,” Mary reminds, “you weren’t. I think Bea will be okay, you just gotta give it some time for her to recharge.” She feels for Beatrice’s pulse, then nods. “She’s just tired. Let her sleep it off.” 

Ava nods, not taking her eyes off of Beatrice’s prone form. Her eyes are closed now and she breathes with the steady rhythm of sleep, but her hand is still firmly in Ava’s. “I’m staying here,” she says, “I’ll be here when she wakes up.”

Ava misses the significant, silent eye-contact conversation above her, but doesn’t miss the particularly gentle way Camila says, “Watch over her, Ava. We’ll bring you dinner.” She doesn’t miss Lilith’s intense glare either as Mary guides her from the room. 

Ava gently removes Beatrice’s wimple, lets her hair down, and sits back down. The Halo seems to expand, growing ponderously heavy. It presses her down as she curls over into herself and lets the tears flow.

Every part of her begs her to run, to flee the dreadful sight lying before her. Beatrice’s chest rises and falls but Ava can sense the hollow where warmth and vigor should be. Ava knows what Beatrice looks like when she’s sleeping peacefully. There is a restlessness to her movements and a faint crinkle in her brow that instills a sense of wrongness. Ava aches to smooth it and give her the familiar calm of sleep, but she can find no solution, no way to heal her mistakes. 

Even the energy brimming in the Halo feels jittery, unstable. It itches at the nape of her neck like wanderlust goading her to run, to leave, to sprint into the night and into unknowns that she could fight better than the phantom of waiting. She sniffles and wipes her nose with one hand. The other, ensconced in Beatrice’s grasp, solidifies as the singular point binding her here. Not as a chain, or a manacle, but a connection more grounding. A reminder. 

_Don’t go,_ Beatrice had said, and Ava can’t bring herself to disappoint her. Not when she’s the reason Beatrice is silent and still on the bed. 

_Don’t go,_ Beatrice had asked, and even the instinct to flee can’t bring Ava to break the silent promise bound in the press of their palms. 

_Don’t go,_ Beatrice had begged, and so Ava stays. 

* * *

Camila brings them dinner. Beatrice is still asleep. “I’m surprised Lilith hasn’t come in here to yell at me yet,” Ava remarks. “Thought she would’ve by now.” 

“She’s not mad at you,” Camila says. “Why would you think that?” 

Ava frowns. “Uh, _this?”_ She glances at Beatrice’s sleeping form. “I know we’re technically on good terms. But I could feel her glaring at me earlier. I’m not dumb. I hurt Bea _with_ the Halo. The thing that’s supposed to _protect_ her. I’m sure Lilith’s thinking of all the ways she could’ve done better.” 

“You’re the only one the wings have appeared to. And from what you’ve told us, neither of you knew what would happen when you tried to use Bea’s energy. It’s _her_ fault as much as yours.”

Ava scowls at the thought of Beatrice at fault. “No, that’s...silly.” 

“Exactly.” Camila levels a look at her. “It’s silly to assign blame for something completely unexpected. You were two consenting parties and something went wrong. Nobody’s to blame. And when she wakes up, she’ll understand. It was an accident.” 

_And what if she doesn’t wake up?_ Ava just nods, not trusting those words to stay put if she opens her mouth. Unspoken, this fear lacks teeth; so she grits her own and cages it in silence. 

“You should also get some rest. It’s been a long day.” 

Camila leaves. Ava stays. 

* * *

Beatrice recognizes the unforgiving mattress first, and sets the other blurry objects into the context of her room in reaction. One thing stands out, this warmth in her hand; uncontrollable chills break through waves of unbearable fever, but through it all a certainty rests in her palm. 

Her limbs are bound in molasses and rubber bands and the slow turn to her other side is aching, monumental, exhausting. _Oh...Ava_. The vague sense of a presence at her bedside is Ava. She’s asleep, leaning forward on the back of the turned-around chair, and her hand is in Beatrice’s. 

Beatrice recognizes this as how things should be, and slips back into a dreamless doze. 

* * *

Her chin slips from its resting place on her forearm and hits the back of the chair with a painful jolt. Ava flails into a panicked consciousness.  _ Where the fuck — oh.  _ Neat desk, candles. Beatrice’s room. Moonlight is dripping into the room and collecting on the floor in small rectangles of silver. The air is still. Beatrice is still asleep. 

Ava straightens up and does a few wincing stretches, trying to relieve the ache in her back and the wooden stiffness of her neck. Ava quickly switches hands so she can stretch the one that’s been in Beatrice’s grasp all night. She feels slightly warmer, but Ava can’t tell if it’s from transferred body heat or not. She stifles a yawn and leans forward on the chair to watch Beatrice, drowsily curious. 

The quiet darkness reminds her of that night she’d plucked up the courage, driven by the hauntingly real images of her nightmares, to knock at Beatrice’s door and seek comfort. She had buried herself into Beatrice’s arms so easily. Ava had breathed in the warmth of her body and perhaps that had been the real start of things, the first fallen domino. That nascent affection curling behind her ribs, sparking at each touch, the reverence of the words they’d placed between them in the darkness; that had been it. Ava recognizes distantly, amused and appalled, that this  _ crush  _ is far out of control now. It could have been called a crush then, when she was tracing pale scars on Beatrice’s delicate, strong hands. The word falls short now as she holds Beatrice’s hand again in the same room, in a different nighttime. 

This acknowledgement doesn’t help the guilt festering in her chest. It sharpens it, gives it teeth, because Ava ought to  _ protect  _ the people she loves. Instead, she’s sitting here and Beatrice is silent and still. Before Ava can truly comprehend it, her body is fleeing. She phases from Beatrice’s grasp and is at the door in a blink, breath coming short. The doorknob burns cold in her hand. 

Beatrice stirs slightly. Her fingers flex, searching for Ava. The upwelling of impulse sinks and Ava knows, without hesitation, that leaving will hurt more than staying. 

She turns the chair back around and slouches back into it, slipping her hand back into Beatrice’s grasp. The Halo seems to thrum contentedly as she does so, tickling the nape of her neck. “Bea?” Ava whispers, suddenly struck by the urge to confess. The silence feels empty, lacking. Part of her hopes that Beatrice is awake. Part of her hopes that she’s asleep, so that these words can stay secret a little longer. “Bea, you awake?” 

There’s no response. Ava bites her lip. 

“You know, I...care a lot about you.” Okay, that’s a good start. “You...I like spending time with you. I like, uh, the way you smile at me, and how you push me to be better. Even when I complain.” Ava chuckles a little to herself.  _ “Especially _ when I complain. I like how you’re patient with me, and you’re always encouraging. I know you secretly like all my terrible jokes, even though you roll your eyes at them. I like making you laugh. I…” Ava blinks away moisture. “I hope you can forgive me for this? Camila said it was an accident, but...it was still something  _ I  _ did that hurt you. I’ve already...I’m sorry.” Ava stares at Beatrice’s fingers, her hand, and those familiar scars. She speaks after long, endless minutes. “I want to be someone you can trust,” she begins again, testing the feel of the words in her heart. “I want to make you smile, and I want to make you feel loved.” It’s as far as she can get to saying the true words. The sentiment still scares her a little, said out loud. It’s escaped now, this affection. 

Ava leans her forearms on her thighs, and is struck by the urge to pray. The sensation is so startling that Ava glances around for a moment, convinced that some external force is compelling her to spirituality. She gazes at Beatrice’s sleeping form, the lines of her face.  _ Try it, Ava,  _ she’d probably say. Ava purses her lips and closes her eyes. 

_ Um, so….hey, God. Hope I’m not waking you up or anything. I was wondering if you’d, uh, take care of Bea? I kinda fucked up earlier. I’m trying to be better at that, but...you know, this Halo didn’t come with instructions or anything, so you can’t really blame me for not knowing that that would happen. Not that it’s  _ your  _ fault, but...well, it sorta is. That’s not the point, though, I wanted to just, uh, check in, and...don’t let Bea pay for my mistakes. Please.  _

Ava sighs, and rests her forehead on the mattress. With a few deep inhales, calming her lungs with the scent and sensation that is uniquely Beatrice, she drifts back into slumber. 

* * *

She wakes briefly when Ava leaves. Beatrice yawns and stretches and groans at the pull of unusually sore muscles. It’s nearly noon. Dust motes drift in the sunlight. She feels half herself, transparent. The world around her is vibrant in comparison, round and full to her empty flatness. A dull ache, marrow-deep, drags her down and makes her slow. 

In the strong midday sun, the unsettling half-nightmares and feverish dreams of last night are pale and without substance, and a vague memory, more solid than dream, teases at her thoughts. There are flashes of a familiar voice. Words that pull at her heart like the gentle stitching of fresh wounds. When she tries to recollect it, the beginnings of a headache prick the inside of her skull in warning. Beatrice winces. She struggles out of her clothes, pulls on something more comfortable, and crawls back into bed. 

* * *

Ava lets Camila drag her to breakfast after some wheedling, gentle insults about how loud her stomach is growling, and a prod at her back that makes her realize exactly how much it hurts to sleep half-bent over. She fields questions and curiosity from the others, eats as quickly as she can, and returns to Beatrice’s room with a plate of food. She finds the woman sprawled on the bed, asleep. She’s wearing different clothes, though, and Ava brightens at the implication.  _ I’ll let her sleep.  _ She resumes her post at the side of the bed. 

Mary pulls her away in the afternoon for weapons training. It goes on for half an hour until Ava nearly shoots herself in the foot, after which Mary declares her ‘too distracted by Beatrice, even though she’s not here, which is incredible’ to continue. Ava returns to her chair by Beatrice’s bedside. 

* * *

When she opens her eyes this time, her mind feels clear. She feels solid. Beatrice finds the clock at nine PM and Ava asleep at her side, bent over onto the bed and face pressed to the sheets. She smiles, and is reaching out to shake Ava awake when the memory resurfaces. 

_ I want to make you smile. I want to make you feel loved.  _

She freezes. That had been a dream. It must’ve been. She approaches the feverish memory as she might a spider in the bathroom — with caution, afraid that it’ll scuttle away into some unreachable corner, never to be found again. Still, it persists. Ava’s voice, dulcet and earnest, clarifies in her mind. The memory has the boring trappings of reality. The content, however, is firmly fantastical. Beatrice shakes her head, smiling to herself. No, that’s enough to convince her that the memory is yet another figment of her exhausted and delirious brain. Sure, Ava is here. And she’s been by her bedside consistently, but...hope, invigorated and unrelenting, pushes through. Perhaps it hadn’t been a dream. Was it so far-fetched, to imagine that the sentiments she’d long yearned for were true, and reciprocated by the woman at her side? 

_ Yes.  _ Ava shifts and starts to drool onto the bed. Beatrice takes that hope and stuffs it down for a later date. “Ava,” she says, grabbing her shoulder, “wake up. That can’t be comfortable.” 

“Mmrgh.” Ava sits up slowly. Her hand flies to her back as she straightens fully, groaning.  _ “Ow.”  _

“Come here,” Beatrice says, tugging at their interlocked hands. “You slept like that all night. That’s terrible for your back.”

“Trust me”— Ava winces —“my back is very aware of that, thank you.” Ava stretches gingerly, then freezes, eyes going wide. “Wait.  _ You’re awake.  _ How do you feel? Are you okay?” The concerned timbre of her voice soothes Beatrice, pleases something smug and purring in her chest.

“I’m surprisingly well-rested.” Beatrice takes stock of her limbs. There’s a deep sense of frailty in her bones that lingers still, and she won’t be taking out squadrons of security men any time soon, but she feels real again. Her mind is clear…er. “I feel better. Still a bit drained, but awake.”

Ava’s relieved smile falters. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice soft, eyes dropping to the mattress and their joined hands. “I hurt you.” 

Beatrice comprehends briefly the tangled history that seems to be carving this guilt deep into Ava’s voice. She harbors no enmity (experimentation requires failure to grow, after all), but Ava doesn’t seem to realize it. Beatrice squeezes her hand. “It was an accident. And I was the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“I know, but I’m supposed to protect you, not hurt you. I should’ve been more careful, should’ve thought it through.” Ava looks up, an anxious light shining in her troubled expression. “Will...will you forgive me?” 

Beatrice sees traces of Ava in all her dreams, and the near-broken way she asks for forgiveness pulls that strange memory closer to reality. She softens her voice, instills as much reassurance as she can into the words. “Of course I forgive you, Ava. But you did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. We didn’t know what would happen. It’s nobody’s fault.” Ava nods, glancing away. “I’m serious, Ava. Look at me.” She does. “Please don’t beat yourself up about it. And look — I got some really good sleep out of it.”

Ava chuckles despite herself. “Is that a joke?”

Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “I do, contrary to popular belief, have a sense of humor, Ava.” 

Ava laughs, then winces. “Ugh. Ow. The Halo does not like the way I slept last night.” 

“Come here.” The tired ache in her bones is enough to loosen the knotted tangle of willpower that keeps her loud desires restrained. Self-control wilts around Ava, anyways; what’s another indulgence in her book of sins? Beatrice shifts over carefully to make space, and pats the mattress. “If you’re going to stay, you might as well join me.” 

Ava stares at her, then climbs into bed. At first they’re awkward, shoulder-to-shoulder on a mattress sized for one chaste nun. Then Beatrice coaxes Ava into her arms, and they settle into a puzzle-piece position, hands still intertwined between them. “Sleep,” Beatrice murmurs. Ava nods silently and curls into Beatrice’s side. The haze of slumber they’d just thrown off descends easily again. Beatrice lets Ava nestle into the crook of her neck, and closes her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this was supposed to be way more fluffy than it ended up being. In fact, my thoughts for this entire chapter were completely upended thanks to Beatrice's actions, so this is almost exactly opposite of what I had planned. Thanks, Bea! 
> 
> another note: i'm back in School Mode, so updates may take a littol more time. but don't worry, this fic definitely takes precedence over any senior capstone. just don't tell my advisor XD


	7. the blood of christ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief interlude, of sorts.

She’s preoccupied in tracing astral bodies across the sky when someone speaks. “Having a good night?” 

" _Fuck—”_ Ava startles, phasing instinctively, and the wine bottle slips from her incorporeal fingers. She lunges to grab it as it falls, but only succeeds in tipping the bottom of it. Wine sloshes in a messy arc all over her leg. “Fuck.” The glass shatters in two places as it hits the roof and dark red liquid puddles in the gravel.

Lilith is biting back a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and Ava almost doesn’t recognize her, habit-free and non-scowling.

“You—teleported!” Ava looks down at her wine mournfully. 

“I, uh, brought more.” Lilith holds up a bottle. Ava blinks. 

“I...okay. Not gonna ask.” Lilith joins her at a respectful, friendly distance, hopping on the parapet and prying the cork out of the bottle with one dark claw. She takes a swig and passes it to Ava. The half-bottle she’s already had is warming her against the high altitude at the top of Cat’s Cradle, and another long pull burns sweetly in her throat. She directs her gaze skyward. “I thought you were mad at me.” 

Lilith takes the bottle back, frowning. “Why?” 

“Because of what happened with Beatrice.” Said nun is still recovering, asleep in Ava’s bed downstairs. They'd relocated after cricks in necks and sore limbs from Beatrice's too-small bed. The past few days have been long anxious hours of watching Beatrice sleep, nervous concern only abating each time she wakes and gives Ava that sleepy smile. Ava kicks her heels against the wall, hard. She grasps at the solid roughness of the brief pain to cut through the floaty, lazy haze of alcohol, relishing both sensations.

“Oh. No,” Lilith shakes her head. “I was concerned. We were worried. We had no idea what had happened.” 

“But you glared at me. When you left.” Ava pries at an outcropping of stone on the parapet. “I mean, I know I’m not the ideal halo-bearer. And taking out one of your teammates is probably not ideal either.” She tries to wrangle her words back into a semblance of sense, tongue loose from the wine. “I was—the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Bea. I was trying to be better. It makes sense for you to be mad at me, I guess. That’s what I mean.” 

Lilith raises the bottle to her lips again, and lets a moment fall silent around them. “I know I haven’t been the most welcoming—”

Ava blows a raspberry. “You can say that again.”

“I'm trying to say something here.” 

“Right. Sorry. Continue.” 

“But I meant it when I said you were one of us.” Lilith passes Ava the bottle. Her hair is silken in the glittering starlight. Her expression softens, and Ava relaxes along with it. “I trained my whole life to take the Halo. But I still don’t know what it’s like to have it in you. And while I do know what it’s like to come back to life...like you said. You didn’t ask for any of this.” Lilith stares up at the clear midnight sky. “I understand better now, why you would run.” Her gaze drops to meet Ava’s and there’s a curious intensity there. “But with Beatrice, you didn’t.”

Ava squirms at the reminder of her past escape attempts. “Well, I couldn’t. That was something _I_ did. And —” _It was Beatrice,_ she wants to say. “I couldn’t leave her. Also you probably would’ve caught me if I tried to run.” She gives Lilith a grin, but the other woman only shakes her head, expression serious.

“In seconds.”

Ava nods. “Exactly.” She takes a long swallow of wine and closes her eyes, letting the wind caress her skin and tug at her hair. She thinks about Beatrice, asleep. The lovely curve of her cheek and the freckles beneath her eyes that would be so nice to kiss. 

“I think I underestimated you.” Lilith murmurs. Ava glances over, startled. “I...I’m sorry.” The apology is stilted, but genuine.

“Oh.” Ava chuckles a little. “Thanks, I guess.” The warmth is settling in her stomach now. She burps and Lilith shoots her a look before letting out an even longer burp. A fit of giggles consumes Ava and she’s helpless against them as Lilith grins. “Why, uh,” Ava manages between laughter, “whatcha doin’ up here, anyways?” Another swig. 

“I thought I’d find you here. I can sense the Halo, you know.” 

“Oh shit,” Ava says. “You can GPS me? That’s kinda crazy. I don’t know how I feel about that.” 

“It’s helpful at times,” Lilith says. “I can sense your general direction if I focus hard enough.”

Ava frowns. “So I guess we’re not playing hide and seek anytime soon.” 

“I was going to ask you about Beatrice, though.” 

“Oh, her? She’s just fine, doing beautiful. I mean—she _is_ very pretty, but she’s also doing fine. Yes. Why? Oh _wait_ you were the one who started that bet!” Ava gestures towards Lilith with the wine bottle. “You started it! What was your bet?” 

Lilith’s got a smile on her lips, hint of pride dancing on her face. “Perhaps. And you don’t get to hear what my bet is, that’s not how bets work.” 

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I know how bets work,” Ava mutters to herself. 

Lilith plucks the wine bottle from Ava’s loose grip. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her recently.” 

“Well.” Ava shrugs. “She’s asleep most of the time.” Which has been both blessing and curse; the full ache in her chest has only grown, become pervasive and unstoppable, since she’s put cautious words to it. _I want to make her feel loved._ She wants to run, to drown out the inevitable certainty in her brain with the pounding of feet on pavement. Instead she’s rubber-banded to Beatrice’s sleeping form, unwilling to leave her alone. There’s no obligation to hide this feeling, but she can’t fight it, stifle its growth. Ava almost dreads her first long conversation with Beatrice. There's simply no way she can keep something like this hidden from Beatrice's keen gaze.

“Have you talked to her yet?” Ava groans, and Lilith holds up a finger. “I’m asking this not because I’m invested in your little drama. I’m asking this for the sake of the rest of us, who have to deal with you moping around.” She sips the wine.

“I don’t _mope,”_ Ava exclaims, “who says I’m moping!”

“Explain why you were doodling Beatrice’s name in your mashed potatoes during lunch today.” 

“Uh—”

“And why I found this in the library?” Lilith holds up a folded sheet of paper. Ava’s eyes widen. It’s a sheet of paper familiar to her—she writes in that journal every night, practicing her jerky handwriting and working her thoughts onto paper. And the other day she’d spun an attempt at poetry onto the page, tore the page off to throw away, and lost it. 

“That’s mine—” She lunges for it but Lilith’s quicker and less inebriated. 

“Oh, no, you’re explaining this to me.” She holds the paper above Ava’s head and fends her off with one hand, smirking.

  
Ava flails ineffectively. “Give it back!” Lilith raises an eyebrow and begins to read off the paper. 

" _I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I close my eyes, I see your smile. You hide in all my daydreams.”_ Ava flushes, alcohol-fueled warmth combusting with embarrassment. _Fuck, fuck, fuck shit._

She tries for another grab and nearly topples onto the roof. “That’s — don’t be _mean,_ Lilith —”

“Here,” Lilith chuckles, pressing the paper into Ava’s hand. “Still. Care to explain?”

Ava grabs the paper and crumples it into a ball before stuffing it down her bra. “That was uncalled for,” she huffs. “There’s nothing to explain. _Also,_ I thought you were going to be nicer.” 

“I said nothing of the sort.” Lilith picks up the wine bottle again and sips from it. “I think there’s plenty to explain there, Ava.”

“You already know I like her,” Ava says, defensive and grumpy. Her face is still burning. “That’s it, that’s the explanation.” She knows Lilith is talking about the question she’d scrawled at the bottom of the page in her loopy, unsteady handwriting. _Is this what love feels like?_

“Ava,” Lilith says, voice softer. Ava crosses her arms and sits down with her back to the wall and says nothing. “Don’t be a child.”

“Says you,” Ava shoots back. She’s not _ashamed_ of it. She likes Beatrice. But it is embarrassing, to have her half-poetic ramblings read like that, and now she’s mad at Lilith for it. “That was... _not cool_ , Lilith.” For some reason she can’t find harsher language. Maybe it’s because she’s a little mad at herself for losing the page, mad at herself for her inability to say the true phrase.

“I’m sorry,” Lilith says. She scoots over and puts the half-empty bottle by Ava’s leg. “Truce?” 

Ava scoffs, but gathers the bottle in her arms like a baby. “You’ll need more than that.” 

The words are sarcastic now, amused. “Oh? How will I ever make up for my crimes?” 

“I dunno,” Ava mutters. “Not exposing me like that again. Never being mean to me again.” She perks up with an idea. “Giving me your dessert every day for the next week. No, the next month!”

“That is _not_ happening. I’ll give you my dessert tomorrow, and that’s it.”

Ava considers this. “For the rest of the week.” 

Lilith rolls her eyes. “Fine.” When she speaks again, her tone is measured. “What you wrote, Ava. Were you serious?” 

“I’m serious all the time. I never make jokes about important things,” Ava says. “I’m offended you would think otherwise.”

Lilith huffs. “God, you make it so— _difficult.”_

“Maybe _you’re_ the one making it difficult,” Ava retorts. She gestures at the piece of paper stuffed under her shirt. “This is my business.” 

Lilith sighs. If she has Halo radar for Ava, Ava has an exasperation-meter for Lilith, and right now it’s reaching new levels. “It’s my business when you’re in _love_ with my friend, Ava.” 

“I—” Ava shuts her mouth with another swallow—the last swallow—of wine. She looks at the empty bottle morosely, then points an accusing finger at Lilith. “You—you are plying me with wine to get me to spill my secrets!” She kicks at the wine-soaked gravel sadly. “I already spilled my _wine_.” 

“I’m trying to get you to _do_ something,” Lilith says, not unkindly, “because the only one more thick-skulled than you when it comes to feelings is Beatrice.” 

“I’m still processing!” Ava exclaims. “You can’t rush emotional growth, _Lilith.”_ If only that wasn’t her go-to excuse. It’s obvious and undeniable at this point; Ava’s just fucking _terrified._ Call her a coward, call her weak-willed. She can’t bring herself to hide this feeling. She can’t bring herself to expose it. Beatrice means too much, and Ava’s scared _shitless_ that she’s going to break things between them beyond repair. 

Lilith takes this excuse in stride, which means that she completely ignores it. “You need to tell her.”

Ava squashes the thrill of panic at the thought and reaches for a familiar response. “Only if you give me your dessert for the next month.” 

Lilith’s sigh borders on a growl. “You’re _insufferable_.” 

“And bribe-able,” Ava points out. “This is an easy choice, if you really think I should tell her.”

“Do you think not telling her is helping anybody?” Lilith snatches the bottle out of her hands as she’s tilting it up to catch the last few drops. Ava pouts. “Ava.”

“I feel like I’m being bullied,” Ava gripes. “Mary told me to be gentle. You want me to...what?” 

Lilith raises an eyebrow. “Be brave, for once.” 

Ava gasps dramatically. _“Oh, that is a low blow —”_

Lilith’s gaze is piercing, unfairly perceptive. “You stayed for her. Why?” 

“I —” Ava blinks. “I had to. To show her that I cared.” 

Lilith is on the verge of rolling her eyes again. “Don’t you think _telling_ her you care about her is a good way to show that, too?” 

Ava has no real response to this. The wine is heavy in her stomach and she feels sleepy and dizzy, senses soft and dulled. She mulls Lilith’s argument over as best as she can. “Okay,” she says, finally. “You win. You’re right. I’ll tell her.” It’s just so she can get Lilith off her back, but the declaration settles the anxiety fizzling in her blood somewhat. _Maybe..._

Lilith looks smugly pleased. “Good. Because she’s coming up the stairs right now.” 

Ava whirls. _“What—”_

“Don’t be a coward. I’ll give you my dessert for two weeks.” Lilith steps forward and through a portal of fiery light. 

Ava shouts at empty air. “No—fuck, three weeks!” As she disappears, Ava watches the door to the roof swing open. _Oh, fuck._ She lifts the wine bottle, gets a disappointing reminder that it’s empty, and steels her nerves on empty air instead. 

_Be brave, Ava. For Beatrice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter that went through at least four diff iterations. I had this conversation planned for a bit, but it's taken some wrangling to work with the plotty stuff I wanted to include. we're coming up on the end of stuff I have planned, but keep an eye out -- I have several ideas that didn't make it into this work that I think I'll make into a series of oneshots. tbd! 
> 
> let's yell about women on tumblr, hmu @feveredreams.


	8. starstruck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the lateness of this chapter; I gashed my hand open during swordfighting practice and therefore have been a little slower on the typing side. I also had to grapple with the absurd difficulty of writing endings, my mortal nemesis. that aside, enjoy the final chapter!

Beatrice pushes the door to the roof open. There’s a flicker of firelight ahead of her that prods her danger sense to alertness. “Ava?”

The halo-bearer is sitting on the ground, back against the low wall of the parapet. “You got me,” she calls, with a small wave. “Over here.” There’s an empty wine bottle in her hand and large pieces of shattered glass by her foot. As Beatrice approaches, boots crunching on the gravel, warm golden light flares briefly from Ava’s back, muted against the wall. 

“What was that?” Beatrice asks, leaning on the parapet next to Ava. A sudden gust of wind cuts across the rooftop and she pushes hair out of her eyes futilely. “Trying to fly? Please be careful.” Sleep is still heavy in her bones, but the sharp nighttime air is starting to push it out of her system. Ava looks up at her, cheeks ruddy, and Beatrice is reminded of the dream — memory? — that’s been nagging her waking hours. 

“No, I was...uh, drinking. I _think_ the Halo just sobered me up.” Ava looks at the wine bottle in her hand with surprise, like she’s just noticed it. “Think that means something? Probably not, right?” 

Beatrice chuckles, tries to compare her dream-Ava to real Ava, solid and smelling of wine. “Definitely not a message or anything from a higher power.” She’s honed her familiarity with Ava to razor accuracy. She can’t find a difference in mannerism and speech between the dream and the woman sitting at her side. The only thing that remains hard to believe are the actual words she’d said. _I want to be someone you can trust. I want to make you smile._

“Oh, good.” Ava fiddles with the bottle, pulling at the label. “What are you doing up? It’s late.” 

Beatrice recalls the sudden rush of worry when she’d turned and reached out for Ava only to find the bed empty and cold. “I woke up and you were gone.” She’d wandered the halls in increasing worry until she’d run into Lilith, also up and sleepless. “Lilith said she’d help me look for you. She didn’t come back down so I came up to see if you were up here.” Beatrice yawns and leans her head on her fist. “Up drinking?” She raises an eyebrow at the bottle in Ava’s hands and the one broken on the ground. “Why?” She doesn’t know whether to be concerned or unsurprised; this is Ava, after all. 

“Um. Couldn’t sleep.” Ava rubs her eyes. The flush on her cheeks is starting to fade somewhat. “Thoughts were getting too loud. And it’s been at least 24 hours since I did something dumb, so,” she adds, with that crooked grin that makes Beatrice’s heart flutter. 

Beatrice hums, and meanders closer so that her foot is touching Ava’s leg. “Are your thoughts quieter now?” She’s found that the process of recovery means allocating energy to critical systems only, which means things like walking and talking and not falling asleep. This leaves self-control and willpower lacking. It’s hard enough to pull away from Ava’s gentle gravity when she's in full control of herself; she falters now and draws closer, helpless.

Ava stands, and for a moment Beatrice’s heart drops. Then she repositions herself next to Beatrice, matching her posture leaning against the wall. The press of their shoulders is solid and warm. “I think the wine was helping,” Ava says. “But the Halo just sobered me up. Which kinda defeats the purpose.” 

“I’ve been thinking.” She can see the wisps of baby hairs at Ava’s temple, a small freckle hidden behind her ear. She has a small smile line at the corner of her mouth. Beatrice leans into her, turning her head to rest her chin on Ava’s shoulder, and puts up a paltry resistance against the desire to stare. Ava goes stock still. 

The idea that Beatrice has been toying with finds purchase in this interesting observation. She has always been the tactician, playing her knowledge and competence to gain level ground when the simple fact of her identity has already ruined any chance at winning her parents’ approval. Strategy is a comforting frame to contain the world. She hesitates to use it now however—knowledge, her weapon, has always been for the sake of others. She researches, studies, to learn for the sake of proving herself. She can’t remember the last time she’d reached out for knowledge without the impetus of self-worth. But this is what makes it tantalizing, red fruit hanging just out of reach on a tree branch; a knowledge that could change everything, something solely for herself. Is it greedy to want it so desperately? Does the sin of knowing matter when her very being is an affront? 

Ava’s looking straight ahead, eyes only flicking over to Beatrice briefly. “You’re always thinking,” she says, lips quirking up. “Unlike me.” She directs her gaze up to the stars, tilts her head back. 

No, Beatrice needs to know. She is tipsy on Ava’s proximity, the flush of her cheeks and the sweet sharp scent of wine on her breath. And knowing is different than reacting in the same way that casing a building is different than actually breaking into it. Beatrice is here to establish the situation, nothing else. A reconnaissance mission is not a commitment to the mission. She is testing feasibility, working out angles of approach to see whether a follow-through will even work. That’s all. 

She reaches out and traces fingers along the back of Ava’s shirt, where the Halo hums. It’s warmer there, in the valley between her shoulder blades. “What if you can return energy from the Halo? Expel it in a non-harmful way?” Beatrice notes with interest that Ava shivers at her touch. Promising. 

“I...don’t know.” There’s a small quiver to her voice. Beatrice wonders if it’s from hesitation or something else. “Last time we tried...energy-related things with the Halo…”

Beatrice gives a small shrug. “We’ll never be able to truly harness the Halo’s powers if we don’t test it. And look at me, I’m practically recovered.” 

Ava shoots her a skeptical look. “Riiiight.” Beatrice responds with a guileless, brilliant smile. Ava’s gaze flicks down for a millisecond before she looks away again. Beatrice adds this to her list of observations and adjusts her chin on Ava’s shoulder. Time to push a little further. 

“And I trust you.” 

Ava inhales sharply. “I don’t really trust myself,” she says, after a moment, but the words ring with the hollowness of an excuse. “Also, who cares if I can expel power from the Halo? I mean”—she chuckles nervously, shakes her head—“aren’t we trying to extend my stamina? Expelling power seems like the exact opposite of what we’re trying to do. And it’d be cool to be able to heat up stuff with my hands or something, I could be like the human torch, but. It’s, uh, probably not super critical in a battle. I could hug an enemy into submission? Or—”

Beatrice lets her fingers trail down Ava’s back, pressing firm enough to avoid tickling her but light enough to draw another shudder and sudden silence from the halo-bearer. There’s something delicious about watching Ava’s reactions from this distance. There’s something damning about it, too, but Beatrice hesitates to draw conclusions so early on. “It could help me recover faster,” she suggests. At any other time she would be blushing at her own nerve, but now she doesn’t have the energy to care. The shaky breath Ava takes is reward enough. 

“I...I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll take that.” Beatrice lifts her head, moves her hand closer to where Ava’s are clasped together. “What were you talking to Lilith about? I assume she was the teleportation action I glimpsed earlier.” Another cutting breeze chills them and Beatrice shivers. Ava’s arm snakes around her waist in reaction, pulling her close. 

Beatrice grins at the way Ava tries to pass off the action, looking away with overly calculated nonchalance. “Uh, yeah. Just...I thought she was mad at me, but she wasn’t. She actually apologized and said she underestimated me!” Ava brightens, then pauses. “Then she called me a coward.” 

Beatrice cocks her head. “For?” 

Ava makes a vague motion with her shoulders. “Stuff,” she elaborates.

Beatrice speaks without checking herself, and panics briefly at it before transferring energy to observing Ava’s reactions instead. No risk, no reward. “I had a dream the other night.” Saying the words out loud gives her pause. Ava glances over, interested, and then she’s past the point of no return. “And I dreamt of...something I wished was true. But I…” She chuckles. “I must confess a certain cowardice myself, to chase my wishes. Even when I know the results could be very...beneficial.” 

Ava has gone still again, and her voice is strangely closed off when she speaks again. “What did you dream of?” 

Beatrice swallows the truth and counters with a challenge. “What were _you_ talking to Lilith about? Please do not say ‘stuff’.” Ava makes a little choked noise. 

“Um.” 

“Something drastic enough to drive you to drink,” Beatrice remarks, nudging a little further. She turns in the curve of Ava’s arm to face her. “That bad?” Ava’s still looking away, and the flush of her cheeks has returned. 

“No! It’s just—a lot to process. Kinda a scary thing to process. I mean, it’s not every day you—” Ava freezes, stopping the downward spiral into a ramble midway. Beatrice nudges Ava’s calf with her toe. Here is the weak point in the blueprints, the ventilation system she can use; Ava hesitates and Beatrice presses the point without thinking. 

“Every day you…?”

Ava seems to be growing redder. Beatrice gets the sense of a dam, words piling up behind Ava’s closed mouth with increasing force that tightens her shoulders until she blurts, “Have you ever fallen in love?” 

It’s Beatrice’s turn to go still. Her heart wrenches in her chest as the other shoe drops. Her casual confidence congeals and goes cold. This is not gauging the situation. The situation is an ambush, a predetermined kill box; Ava has been three steps ahead the whole time and Beatrice is just now realizing it. She’s stone-cold sober. Her heartbeat is loud in her ears. “I don’t know,” she says. “Why—why do you ask?” She knows why. Even as she asks, she knows. The apple is sweet as she bites into; too sweet, overwhelming her taste buds so much her mouth aches. So this is how it feels, to know. The logic plays on without her: once she knows, she can react. Instead she stands in the circle of Ava’s arm and forgets everything except the brown of those eyes, wide and intense. 

Ava takes a deep breath. “I think I’m in love with you,” she says, quietly, firmly. A soft smile graces her lips.

Thinking and doing are different. Which is why thinking _I could be in love with you, too,_ does not equal “You...think?”, which is what Beatrice says. There are times in combat when doing must supersede thinking, but this is not combat and Beatrice has not trained her body to respond to this kind of input. _Love_ and _you_ are not words that go together.

The dam bursts. “I wanna kiss you and make you smile and hold your hand,” Ava rushes, “and I want to make you happy. So I think that’s love. Right? Either way, whatever it is, I—I really, _really_ like you.” She’s earnest. No hesitation. Just a complete baring of emotions that leaves Beatrice breathless. 

“So it wasn’t a dream, then,” she murmurs. Excitement and disbelief pound drum beats in her ears. “I wasn’t sure.” 

Ava is shivering a little, eyes bright and gaze intense. “What...what did you dream of?” 

“I dreamt—I heard you talking. About how you wanted to make me smile, and feel loved. And I thought for the longest time…” Beatrice blinks, finds moisture on her eyelids. A small laugh escapes her chest. “I thought my subconscious was tempting me with what I couldn’t have. I thought it was a far-fetched fantasy.” Her heart aches, ribcage constricting.

Ava reaches out. Beatrice flinches a little at the unexpected contact, at the almost-violent warmth of Ava’s palm against her cheek, at the startling intimacy of fingers curling along her jaw. She’s expecting reprimand, despite everything; that practice of self-flagellation runs long and deep. “It’s not,” Ava murmurs. She’s smiling now, with that irresistible, charming grin. Beatrice finds herself slowly matching it. “I promise.” She moves closer and her hand slips down, to the side of Beatrice’s neck. There’s a seductive darkness in her heavy-lidded gaze and it stokes a sweltering fire at the pit of Beatrice’s stomach, encourages the flush at her cheeks. 

Somehow she finds it in herself, a strangely Ava-esque instinct, to break the itching tension with a joke. It’s easier than to shy away from the too-familiar heat sparking in her body. “If I didn’t know better,” she murmurs, “I’d think you were trying to seduce a nun of the Order.” 

Ava’s smirk is sinful, amused. Beatrice aches to taste the tang of it. “Is it working?” Ava asks, voice low, eyes twinkling. 

_“Yes,”_ Beatrice breathes. Patience is one of the skills she’s honed to a fine point but she can’t bear its pinching edge right now. She _wants,_ and for the first time in her life, she has no energy to deny herself that which she desires. The situation is established, and here the opening she’s been waiting for; still, she can’t seem to compel herself forward and close the distance between them. Ava is looking at her, hovering simple inches away. Beatrice is overthinking. “Kiss me,” she blurts. The words sear into her tongue. The fire of the demand is damning yet cleansing, a flame with which she would gladly self-immolate.

Ava’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips. She leans in. Beatrice is marveling at how such a simple press of bodies can mean so much—as hands in hands indicates vulnerability, taking grips away from weapons, lips to lips indicates no need for words, a comfort in silence — but when Ava’s mouth presses gently to hers, the contemplation flees her. _Soft. Warm._ Ava is gentle. 

The faint dry tang of wine still lingers on Ava’s tongue, but it is far more than the alcohol that leaves Beatrice breathless and dazed. They shift closer through instinct, hands grasping at arms and cupping cheeks. She is surrounded by Ava, Ava. _“Ava,”_ she whispers, when the need for oxygen grows too great to ignore and they break apart for air. 

“Yeah?” Ava whispers back, and even though Beatrice’s eyes are still closed, she can hear her smile. 

“You taste like wine.” Beatrice is brilliantly aware of her left hand on Ava’s waist, the other hovering awkward at her shoulder. She opens her eyes. A soft golden glow spills from Ava’s back, winding into fine lines and feathers, ruffling in the wind. “And you…” Beatrice blinks. They’re still there. She’s more awake than the last time, yet somehow less eloquent. “Wings.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Ava surreptitiously (as much as she can, when there is no space between them) lifts a hand to smell her own breath. She makes a face. “Guess the Halo doesn’t think wine breath is life-threatening.” The second half of Beatrice’s sentence finally registers. “Wait—” She spins around and gasps. “Holy _fuck.”_ She turns and then keeps turning, chasing her own tail, before coming to a wobbly stop. The wings flutter excitedly, sending a warm breeze over them. “Bea! I have wings!” Ava reaches back and her fingers go through the gilded, glittering outline of the feathers. _“Ghost_ wings.” 

Beatrice laughs—she can’t help it, Ava’s pure delight brings it bubbling out of her. “Angel wings,” she corrects, breathless. Golden light covers them, graces the night with gentle afternoon warmth. An idea occurs to her. “Kiss me again.” 

Ava turns and obliges eagerly. Beatrice can sense the glow of the wings increasing, even through her closed eyelids. “You give me wings,” Ava murmurs, when they pull apart again. “You—you literally have me walking on air. You have me on cloud nine. You—you—” She’s bouncing with excitement and Beatrice finds herself brimming with that same energy. “You’re the wind beneath my wings!”

“Take a breath,” she chuckles, “don’t waste all your jokes in the first minute.” 

“Oh, you’re right.” Ava inhales, steadies herself. She reaches up, traces her fingers along the edge of the feathers. “Should I try flying?” 

Beatrice hesitates, grabs Ava’s hand. “Carefully.” She moves them away from the edge. “Don’t go too crazy.” 

  
“I’m a model of caution,” Ava declares, closing her eyes. Her brow knits tightly in focus. Beatrice waits with bated breath. For a moment, nothing happens. Then another gust skates across the top of the roof and Ava rocks back with the force of it, wings catching air. She lifts into the air and floats, hand gripping tightly at Beatrice’s. “Holy shit,” Ava whispers, cracking an eye open. “This is terrifying!” The delight in her voice strikes dissonant against her words. The wings flap, begin to steady her. “Woah. I think I got it.” She loosens her grip, looks to Beatrice. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” 

Beatrice does too, after a long moment’s pause. “I trust you.” Ava beams, then floats a little higher. The wings beat gently and then Ava swoops down, breezing by Beatrice and soaring up into the air. 

“Woohoo!” Beatrice watches, warm with awe and admiration, as Ava stretches her wings, climbing the sky with fluid ease and joy. She twirls and glides, glowing feathers brushing the stars and setting them glittering. For a breathless minute, she makes a fool of gravity. 

Then the wings start to flicker out. 

Ava drops precariously in the sky, wobbling, and Beatrice’s heart clogs her throat. Ava throws out her arms, shouts “I got it!” and glides towards Beatrice, eyes wide and coming in fast. Beatrice dashes to meet her. She’s trying to come in shallow but the glow at her back is fading, growing dimmer, and Beatrice knows she won’t make it. She pauses, makes quick adjustment to her sprint, and holds out her arms. Ava’s voice is high and tight. “I got it, I got—I _don’t got it—”_

She drops out of the sky and into Beatrice’s arms, nearly knocking them both onto the gravel roof, and then has the gall to say, “I think I’m falling for you.” For a second, Beatrice is lost in Ava’s crooked, charming smile. Then—

“I can’t believe you have the _nerve_ to make jokes after nearly falling to your death.” She drops Ava’s feet, lets her stumble to a standing position on her own. 

“I wouldn’t have _died,”_ Ava points out, “probably just gotten bruised. Also, I knew you would catch me. I trusted you.” She looks so proud of herself for making this point that Beatrice’s reprimand fades in her mouth. “Also—I can _fly!”_ She bounces on her feet, as if already yearning for the touch of the sky again. 

“You can,” Beatrice says, shaking her head even though the smile is creeping across her mouth again. “Looks like the Halo is...your _wingman._ ” 

Ava stares at her, wide eyed with joy. “That was amazing,” she whispers, “and utterly terrible. I love you so much.” 

Beatrice’s breath catches in her chest. “You said you love me,” she repeats, wonderingly. “I’m not...this isn’t a dream again, is it?” She looks around at the clarity of the buildings below them, feels the brisk breeze. “Pinch me.”

“I will not,” Ava says, eyes alight with amusement, “but I can kiss you again.” 

Beatrice nods. “That’s acceptable.” 

  
Ava laughs softly against Beatrice’s mouth. “Just acceptable?” Her hand tangles in Beatrice’s hair. “I guess I’ll have to do better.” She’s enthusiastic, if not a little sloppy with it. Beatrice finds herself responding likewise, a sweet desperation building static between them as hands pull and grasp. Somewhere along the way they forget about toeing the line between chaste and heated. Ava presses Beatrice back firmly against the wall, lays hot kisses on her neck, and Beatrice gasps, nerves buzzing electric.

“Ava,” she manages, “hold on—”

“Oh fuck.” Ava yanks herself back like she’s been burned, panting. “I’m sorry—fuck—was that too much?” 

“No—a little bit,” Beatrice admits. Her face is burning, chest heaving. Her fingers are tingling. “I—you make me feel a lot of things,” she says, in a fast exhale, “including—” she mutters the word “ _—lust_ , but can we take it slow for now?” 

Ava nods fast and eager, then pauses. “Did you just say _lust?”_

“What—what else would I say?” Beatrice says, flustered. 

“Horny,” Ava says, " _aroused_. Hot and bothered. Super turned on, because I’m hot. Overcome with desire.” She wiggles her eyebrows, winks, and Beatrice suppresses a snort of laughter. “But yeah, we can slow down. Chill a little. Maybe just, kiss a little more, though?” 

She looks so eager, eyes wide and hopeful. Beatrice shakes her head, smiles. “That I can do.”

* * *

The moon has passed its zenith by the time they finally pull apart, thoroughly kissed and content to just sit in their shared space. Beatrice is yawning again and even Ava feels the tug of drowsiness behind her eyes. “You’re tired,” she says, out loud to the sky. She messes with their tangled hands, takes an idle pleasure in weaving their fingers together. Beatrice is watching her, gaze fond but eyelids drooping. 

“Just a little.”

“C’mon. I can carry you?” Ava sways to her feet and Beatrice laughs.

“Maybe another time. When I'm less concerned about you falling asleep while doing so.”

“I would never drop you,” Ava says, affronted. “I would never!” 

“And I trust your commitment to that,” Beatrice reassures, looping their arms together. “But you’re also falling asleep right here. Let’s just walk together, hmm?”

They stumble down the stairs arm-in-arm, trading kisses at each landing and sending stifled laughter echoing down the stairwell. Somehow, they make it back to Ava’s room, Beatrice shushing and Ava giggling, pressing messy kisses to her cheek and shoulder and arm, anywhere she can reach.

“You’re so pretty,” Ava sighs, tumbling back against the bed. She leans back on her elbows, regarding Beatrice — hair mussed, lips pink and cheeks flushed. She looks away, smiling shyly at Ava’s attention. “Come here?”

Beatrice moves to stand between Ava’s legs. “Are you sure you’re not drunk anymore?” she asks, smiling. “You seem a little delirious.” Her hands come to rest on Ava's shoulders.

“I’m drunk on you,” Ava declares, with a grin. “Do you wanna cuddle? Just cuddle,” she adds, when Beatrice hesitates. 

“Okay. As long as you don’t hog all the blankets again.” 

Ava makes a noise of offense and rolls onto the bed, wrapping herself in the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, muffled from her blanket burrito, “I don’t hog the blankets.” 

“I can sleep in my own bed if you’re feeling miserly.” She knows Beatrice's faux-serious tone, and knows she's teasing because there's the sound of boots hitting the floor and neatly arranged to the side. Still, Ava flails at the thought of Beatrice gone.

“No! I can share!” Ava struggles out of the tangle of blankets and reaches out to Beatrice with grabby hands. “Promise! I’ll give you all the blankets in the world if you cuddle with me.” 

“I’m only teasing,” Beatrice chuckles, climbing into bed. Ava throws the blanket over them and curls into Beatrice’s arms, resting her head so she can hear the steady rhythm of her heart. “Comfortable?” 

Ava hums and nestles closer. “Very.” She can hear the rumble of words in Beatrice’s chest, like a primal lullaby. 

“How long have you known?” Beatrice asks. “That…”

“I love you?” Ava interlocks their fingers again, resting on Beatrice’s stomach. “Remember that night you taught me how to cartwheel?” She remembers it vividly, the quirk of proud affection in Beatrice’s smile when she’d finally managed to complete a whole rotation. The brief glance back. The thick hum of the night air between them. 

Beatrice hums. “Yes.”

“I realized I had a crush on you that night,” Ava says. “It’s been...growing since then. You make it really easy.” 

“Oh.” The word is uttered small and incredulous. Ava wants to poke at that and unravel the knot there, but Beatrice continues, “Why did you come to my room when you had that nightmare?” 

Ava feels the true vibrations of the question. _Why me?_ She ponders it, rolls around the various quick answers that jump to her mind and considers them in turn. “The nights were the worst,” are the words she settles on, “back—back at the orphanage. It’s hard to sleep sometimes, when all you do is lie there the whole day. I’d lie awake and try to see the stars, when the nights were clear, but…” She grips that choking despair, holds it tight in her palm. She can view it now as an observer, an outsider; she wiggles her toes, flexes her fingers in Beatrice’s grip to remind herself that she can move. She can flee it. “I used to be afraid of the dark. I had to bear that terror for _years._ Just grappling with my own stupid brain. Sometimes Diego would wake up, and I could talk to him, but otherwise, I was just...alone. Scared. In the dark by myself.” 

Beatrice presses a kiss to the top of Ava’s head, arms tightening around her snugly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. But what you said, back at Arq-Tech, about never leaving me alone...that stuck with me.” She chuckles. “Also, I wasn’t going to wake up Lilith.” 

Beatrice is silent for some moments. “She cares more than you think,” she says, finally. “But I am glad you came to me.” 

“Yeah?” Ava looks up, shoots Beatrice a grin. “Were you seduced by my snotty nose and inability to do anything but cry?” 

“Utterly taken." 

“I knew it!” Ava mutters, delighted. “Girls can’t resist me.” 

Beatrice's chest rises in a soft laugh. “Oh? Girls, plural?” 

Ava splutters. “I—I mean, not that there are other people! I meant—generally, the general population. The general public. They just can’t resist me.” 

“Ah, I see.” Amusement warms Beatrice’s voice. 

Ava snuggles closer. “Don’t worry. It’s just you I’m interested in.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Beatrice yawns, begins to run her fingers through Ava’s hair. “Little forewarning: I will have more questions for you tomorrow.” 

“That sounds fun,” Ava mumbles. If there’s a big red button that says “SLEEPY” on it in her mind, the comforting scratch of Beatrice’s nails against her scalp has just smashed it. She nuzzles closer, tangles their legs together. “As long as I get kisses.” 

“Of course,” Beatrice murmurs. She drops another kiss to Ava’s forehead, shifts their joined hands. There's the soft crinkling of paper, and a pause. "Ava?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is there..paper in your shirt?"

_Oh._ Ava hesitates, then reaches into her bra to retrieve the crumpled sheet. "It's...I was working my thoughts out on paper. About you. You can...here." She shoves the ball of paper upwards, hastily before she can change her mind. Beatrice takes it, gently unfolds it and smooths out the creases. Ava buries her face in Beatrice's chest, tries to not think about the words she'd written so messily on the paper. "Still working on the handwriting," she adds, feeling awkward and exposed.

Beatrice reads it, then rereads it. Ava can feel the small pause in breath every time she reaches the end, the question scrawled large now answered. “I…” Beatrice folds the paper back up with care. Ava can hear her thinking, picking her words. Gentle fingers tilt Ava’s chin up so their eyes meet. “You mean so much to me, Ava Silva.” 

Ava untangles the knot of excitement and adoration around her lungs to respond with, “I love you.” Beatrice sighs, a shudder of a pleased smile in the exhalation. She doesn’t respond, just tightens her arms around Ava. That’s all Ava needs right now, this quiet affirmation; she knows that they’ll talk tomorrow, hash out the details and define whatever they are. But hard edges and serious words have no place here in the velvet darkness where they lie, entangled in each other and sharing heartbeats. Ava closes her eyes and breathes in the warm smell of Beatrice’s skin. She falls asleep like that, content and safe. The night closes quiet around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't think my little one-off hurt/comfort fic would turn into a multichap. I should've seen it coming, though, and here we are, at the end!
> 
> thank you to all my readers, for your kudos and comments. You all make my day brighter and make the act of putting thoughts to paper so much more rewarding. Shout-out especially to the WN discord server, for being both an agent of chaos and a wonderful place to talk about ideas and get support. 
> 
> (last note: I have at least 10k of different AUs written already...subscribe if you wanna be privy to the mess of fic that is sure to come!)


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